Blackbird
by Oldach's Dream
Summary: Someone or Something is trying to trap Sam within his own mind. Alluring him with the promise of the normal life that he’s always wanted. Will Dean be able to save his baby brother before he’s gone forever? COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Blackbird

Author: Oldach's Dream

Summary: Someone or Something is trying to trap Sam within his own mind. Alluring him with the promise of the normal life that he's always wanted. Will Dean be able to save his baby brother before he's gone forever?

Disclaimer: Supernatural defiantly isn't my creation.

Rating: M

A/N: Okay, here it is. My second multi-chapter fic. You guys have to tell me what you think of this one, as I possess some insecurities about it.

This takes place AFTER Nightmare. That episode and everything before it is fair game, meaning there's pretty much spoilers for every episode.

The rating is for language and mature themes. And I guess that's it. Read On.

Chapter One:

Sam's eyes opened slowly. Immediately he felt, what seemed to be an angry midget with a hammer, inside his head, hammering away at the internal walls of his skull. The bright light that assaulted him, as soon as his eyelids cracked slightly, was enough to make it angrier still, so he promptly shut them again.

The pounding did not stop though. Sharp jabs of intense pain mixed with the overall throbbing, making his head feel about twice it's normal size, and he considered briefly whether or not he was going to throw up. The thought of it sounded disgustingly appealing, if only to get the extreme churning feeling in his stomach to recede. Yet that would require a lot of movement, not to mention opening his eyes. The thought of either of those things left him feeling even queasier.

The never-ending cycle from hell. He thought sarcastically, and mentally groaned. He would of done so out loud, but it was very apparent at this point, that that probably would of provoked unwanted results from the angry little midget demon in his head.

"Sammy?" Dean's questioning voice was immediately recognizable, even in Sam's clouded mind.

Funny, he sounded scared. Dean didn't get scared too often, and when he did, he masked it with sarcasm and inappropriate humor. Dean could laugh in the face of death, and had many times before. In fact, the only times Sam could ever remember him actually acting scared, were on hunts when Sam had been close to death, or had appeared to be.

Even on those occasions, when his fear was obvious, he would never admit to it. Which is why his next words were so unexpected.

"Come on Sammy, you've got to wake up. You're scaring us."

Sam wondered briefly who 'us' was, but it was a fleeting thought, droned out by Dean's uncharacteristic confession and the pleading laced through his voice. Well, that and the pounding head pain, which went so far beyond a migraine, it made him long for his last extreme hangover. Which had happened on a particularly embarrassing night at Stanford last year.

"I know you're awake." Dean's voice cut through his thoughts again and Sam was briefly and illogically, irritated. Couldn't his brother shut up for a couple seconds so he could figure out what was going on?

"I saw you try to open your eyes." There was a beat of silence. "Is it the light?"

He felt, rather than heard, Dean get up and walk in the other direction, only to pause somewhere a few feet away.

The harshness on the back of his eyelids dimmed considerably and the demon- pounding thing seemed to loose a bit of it's angry streak.

"There." Dean said. "Better?"

Sam meant to say something sarcastic, to put Dean's obviously worried mind at ease. If there was anything that would say, 'I'm fine, quite babying me.' to his brother, it would be a crack about a chick flick moment.

That plan however, was ruined when his voice came out as nothing more than a choked whisper of nothing even resembling English.

Dean was back at his side instantly and Sam felt something thin being pushed at his lips.

"Water." Was Dean's hasty explanation. "Drink."

Sam did as he was told, taking small sips of the cool liquid. It felt good on his raw throat. He hadn't noticed how uncomfortable that particular part of his body had been before he'd been presented with something to rectify it. He'd been a little preoccupied with the other degrees of intense pain.

"Hurts..." Sam managed to rasp between gulps.

"Your throat?" Dean asked, immediately taking the cup away.

"Head." Sam informed.

It was amazing how hard it was to communicate that fact. He couldn't simply say, 'Hey bro, I feel like my head's gonna implode, you think you could do something about it?'

No, he had to rasp out pathetic whimpers, like a child in pain. And while the pain part was certainly accurate, Sam hated being weak. Especially around Dean. He'd always felt the need to impress his older brother, ever since they were younger, and he hated to disappoint him.

He also hated the way his mind could function so well right now. It reminded him of early mornings, the way his brain would turn on before he did. He thought best in the morning, even when he didn't get a lot of sleep. Right now though, he couldn't remember falling asleep. He actually couldn't remember much...

"Alright Sam." A different voice, he realized immediately; a professional, female one. He wondered vaguely if he was drifting in and out of consciousness, for he didn't recall the sounds of anybody entering or exiting the room.

He had deduced, though the stiffness beneath him and the sanitizer smell all around, that he was in a hospital bed. The feeling wasn't one that was completely unfamiliar to him. In their line of work, occasional hospital visits were just part of the job description. Yet never before had it been this antagonizing to wake up in one.

Hell, as far as he could remember, he had never been in so much pain before in his life, but his thoughts on the matter might of been a little skewed at the moment.

"Sam?" Dean's voice again. "You still with us?"

Well, I am now. He attempted to nod, but the angry midget demon thing didn't like to be moved, it seemed. So he stopped abruptly. Luckily it had been enough for Dean.

"Good." Relief. Very apparent relief. "There's a doctor here. She's going to give you something, some medicine, through the IV in your arm. You're probably gonna go back to sleep."

Thank fucking God. Sam thought to himself. Sleep had never felt so desirable. Especially in the six or so months since Jessica's murder, the constant nightmares had turned sleep into something he dreaded. But right now, he would gladly take a nightmare, even one of his creepy visions, over staying awake to further piss off the demon dude in his skull.

"Night, Sam." Dean's voice was far away and Sam wondered if that was due to the medicine now making its way through his bloodstream, which he could only assume it was. Or if his brother was just speaking in an extremely soft voice.

"We'll be here when you wake up Sammy." His voice was softer still. "Don't worry."

Those were the last words he processed before the blissful world of unconsciousness consumed him once again.

00000000000000000000000000

He was still in the hospital, of that much he was sure. Only now he possessed the ability to open his eyes without wanting to die. Everything still felt very real; the dull, but bearable, headache. The stiffness in his neck and shoulders, the slightly queasy feeling.

Yet he knew none of it was actually happening.

He remembered thinking earlier that anything would be preferable to staying awake, but now he wasn't so sure.

Jessica stood next to where he was laying in the hospital bed. Her hand was wrapped around his tightly, and it felt so _real_, so right. The way it used to be.

A part of him wanted to do nothing but loose himself in the feeling of being near her again, touching her. The only thing that held him back was the knowledge that the more he let himself believe it was real, the more it would hurt when he woke up and had to face reality.

It wasn't the first time he'd had a dream like this. He still wasn't quite sure if he preferred them to the nightmares or not. At least in the nightmares he knew what to expect, what he would feel. He knew he deserved the guilt that they brought him. That they were meant to bring him.

"You're awake." Her gentle, loving voice brought unbidden tears to his eyes.

"I miss you." He rasped. He didn't bother to sit up in bed. Any sudden movement in dreams sometimes made things disappear.

"What?" She asked, looking beautifully confused. "I'm right here."

She lifted up the hand that wasn't already gripped in his, and placed it on the side of his face, cupping his cheek lovingly. "Always. Forever."

Sam couldn't resist leaning into her touch. Needing it, in that moment, more than he needed air. He thanked anyone who might be listening, for she didn't fade.

A moment later he risked lifting up his own hand, to cover hers. He moved it from his face to his mouth, kissing the back of it gently; the way he used to do, when she was alive.

"I'm sorry." He choked out. It was hard to speak. It always was when he was talking to her. Whether it be in dreams, nightmares or his perfectly conscious mind.

"Oh, Sam." She said gently with a smile. "It wasn't your fault. Don't blame yourself. If anything I should be apologizing to you."

"No." He said as forcefully as he could manage, which wasn't very, but it was enough to get his feelings across. "How could it be your fault?"

"Well," she said, her fingers were now running through his hair, pushing it out of his face gently. "If I hadn't asked you to go, it wouldn't of happened."

Sam was confused. He was talking to Jessica as if she was real, and she certainly seemed real. Yet he knew from past experience that she was not. She couldn't be.

Then again, nothing quite like this had ever happened before, in any type of dream he'd ever had. Dialogue was always kept to a minimum and he always woke with a stronger feel of what had happened, rather than any specific memories.

In fact, he could narrow them down to two categories. Jessica telling him that her death was all his fault and then bursting into flames. Or a memory, a good memory that he thought he no longer possessed the right to cherish.

This was neither.

"How much about that night do you remember?" She was now asking gently.

"Everything." he answered immediately. Every memory from the night she died was permanently etched into brain, ready and willing to play itself over and over again, at a moments notice.

She paused and looked at him strangely. Something else that had never happened in a dream before. It was always lovingly or accusingly; everything else existed on a middle ground that only live people could walk on.

Maybe whatever medication he had received earlier was messing with his subconscious. Making him feel weird, awake emotions in his dream.

Could you dream pain? And actually feel it? He had never thought about it before, but the tension in his head was increasing slightly.

"Are you sure?" She asked. "You remember me asking you to go get take out because I didn't feel good? You remember what happened afterwards, because the police still haven't..."

"What are you talking about?" His voice was laced with very apparent confusion.

"The robbery." She said, as if it were obvious. "God, Sam, you've been in a coma for nearly two weeks. The doctors weren't even sure you were gonna wake up..." her voice cracked and Sam squeezed her hand tightly, acting on instinct more than anything else, as she went on. "Dean's been worried sick, he's barely left the hospital at all. Your parents came back from Maui..."

"What?" Sam asked stupidly, feeling as though his brain could not catch up with his dream. Which was beginning to feel more and more not like a dream.

"What?" She repeated, almost annoyed. "You think they wouldn't come back early? A second honeymoon seems a tad inconsequential when your youngest son almost dies. You know how much they care about you."

"I...I...I have no idea...I'm...What..." he couldn't even pretend to form a coherent sentence. He couldn't manage a coherent thought either, so it wasn't that shocking. "I think it's time to wake up." He said, when everything else failed.

"What?" She shook her head, indicating her own growing confusion.

"This is a dream, and I have to wake up now, because you're confusing me and I... Your making me miss you more." He was on the verge of tears again, but she just scoffed lightly.

"I told you already Sam, I'm here for you. No matter how strange you insist on acting."

"Stop saying that." He pleaded.

"Why?" She asked, generally curious, still squeezing his hand reassuringly.

"Because you're not real. Because I don't want to wake up anymore."

"Why do you keep acting like this is a dream?"

"Because it is. Because _you _are." He paused and thought about it. "Well, either that or I'm dead. And I always pictured heaven with more clouds." A beat of silence. "And a harp."

"You think I'm dead?" Her voice was somewhere between shocked, amused and concerned, there was disbelief thrown in there as well.

"Yeah." Although his voice was more unsure than it should be, as he was just stating a fact.

"I... I'm going to go get the doctor now, alright?" She said it while slipping her hand away from him. Which sent him into a fit of unexpected panic.

"No! I want you to..." he cut himself off however, as he began coughing violently. He sat up for the first time since he had entered this drug-induced dream, clutching his chest.

He felt something tugging on the back of his throat as he rasped desperately for air, making him feel like he was going to spew the contents of his stomach all over the place. If he could manage to take a deep enough breath, which wasn't really happening at the moment.

"Doctor!" Jessica's frantic screech felt like a booming foghorn in his ear. The pounding in his head resumed, full force, but still he wouldn't let go of Jessica. He couldn't bring himself to give her up again.

His vision was swimming and he could no longer focus enough to hold on to the blissful, painful, un-dream like dream.

The last thing he saw was Jessica's concerned face, before the darkness fell over him again. Only this time, it took him quite unwillingly.

End Chapter.

000000000000000000

A/N: So, what do you think? Should I keep going? Feedback is crucial.


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Blackbird

Author: Oldach's Dream

Summary: Someone or Something is trying to trap Sam within his own mind. Alluring him with the promise of the normal life that he's always wanted. Will Dean be able to save his baby brother before he's gone forever?

Disclaimer: Supernatural defiantly isn't my creation.

Rating: M

0000000000000000000000

Chapter Two:

Sam shot up in bed as soon as he woke again. He clutched his chest and took a deep breath, expecting it to still be difficult. He was shocked to find that it wasn't in the least.

"'Bout time." Dean's voice was unexpected and made him jump, asking frantically;

"What?"

"It's about time you woke up." He said more slowly. "I was worried I was gonna have to take your sorry ass to the hospital."

"Again?" He asked, still trying to catch his breath, and get a grip on reality, if that's what this was.

This felt real, not that that was much help at this point. At least, this felt like it _should _be real, something his dream with Jess had not.

Lumpy mattress under him. Dean sitting on the cheap motel bed across from him, looking half annoyed, half concerned, sporting the same custom Dean fashion that he'd been clad in since his early teen years; layers, of mostly dark clothing.

"What do you mean, again?" He shook his head, confused.

"Again." He repeated. "We were at the hospital earlier."

He raised his eyebrows and looked at Sam dubiously. "No, we weren't."

"Yeah we were." He said slowly, as if trying to explain something to a small child. "I woke up with this God awful headache, and you went and got the doctor and she... what?"

Dean had been staring at him like he had grown a second head, or announced that he was really a female.

"Dude, we haven't been to the hospital. You've only been out for a couple hours. Your heart rate was steady and you didn't have any major head injuries, so I took you back here." He sounded as if he now doubted that decision.

No, that wasn't right. Sam had been at the hospital, in a coma, for two weeks. Right? Or had it been Dream-Jessica that had told him that? He was having a hard time sorting through all of it. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms.

The memories from the hospital, the ones with Dean where his head had hurt like hell, and the ones with Jessica. They all felt real. Like it had happened and he was remembering, not he had dreamt it and he was remembering.

"Sam," Dean was waving his hand in front of his face. He had gone from confused to concerned, like he had been at the hospital... "Are you okay? Tell me what you remember."

"About..." not really sure what his brother wanted to hear.

"The hunt Sammy." He sounded border line frantic. "The hunt we were on."

"Ah..." Finally, a real memory. Something that had to be true. "The Highway Walker?" It came out in more of a question form than he would of liked, but he couldn't help it.

Dean's affirmative nod kept him going and his voice steadied some. "The ghost of that guy…" Sam searched frantically for the name... Hector? Hal? His last name had been short...

_"...Doe." This voice was high pitched and frantic. There was movement all around him. _

_No, he was moving. Being transported by way of gurney. _

_"No ID... Skull fracture... Bleeding... Transfusion... Severe loss." Several people were speaking at once. None of the voices, however, were directed at him. _

"Sam!" Dean's voice snapped him out of...whatever that had been.

"A hospital." He stated without thinking, repeating what he had just seen a flash of.

"There was no hospital!" Dean scared sounded a lot like Dean angry. "We were hunting the Highway spirit. The guy's name was Henry Small."

"Right," Sam agreed, the correct memories coming to him again. "The ghost killing people, then possessing them and getting other people to help him. Pretending to have car trouble. It gets good Samaritans to pull over and repeats the process. Sounds a little like a Woman in White."

"You said that yesterday." Dean reminded him. "And yeah, that's why it was such an easy kill."

"We... I shot it, didn't I?" Sam asked. "That's the last thing I remember."

"Yeah. It was a great hit." Dean said, sounding honestly impressed, and, despite everything else he was feeling, pride quickly became the most noteworthy. "It dissipated right away, just like we thought it would. Then it's residual energy, I guess, manifested for a second, and came at you. Sent you flying back a couple yards, and knocked you out. That was about two and a half hours ago."

"What time is it?" Sam asked automatically.

"About three in the morning. I Love Lucy reruns were just ending."

Sam was about to comment on his brother's taste in TV, if only to lighten the mood, when his vision changed once again, and images consumed him.

_"Chances of survival are slim... surgery immediately." The same sounds as before assaulted him. The snapping on of latex gloves only confirmed his belief that he was indeed in a hospital._

_He could barely breathe, and his head was pounding. He felt something being snapped over his nose and mouth, rather hastily. _

_"Just relax, hon." Sam could tell that the kind, female voice was speaking to him. He responded the only way he could think of. By choking out his brother's name._

"Quit it!" There was no mistaking it now, Dean was frantic. "I mean it, your creeping me out."

"What...what exactly am I doing?" Sam could honestly say that he was probably more confused than his brother was at this point.

"You're talking to me one second, then the next...your eyes get this far away look and you won't _move._"

"I...I feel like I'm somewhere else. A different memory." Sam tried to explain.

"At a hospital." Dean guessed.

"Yeah. Only the memories, they feel so real." Sam shook his head. This was insane. He was acting insane.

"Alright, screw this, let's go." Dean promptly stood up and grabbed for his jacket. He had it shrugged on and was patting his pockets to make sure his car keys were still present before Sam even had a chance to contemplate what he was doing.

This was obviously very apparent on his face, as Dean took one look at him and explained immediately. "We're going to the hospital."

"I'm sick of hospitals." Sam said without thinking.

"No your not." Dean informed him, sounding edgy. "You haven't been in one for weeks. You haven't been a patient in one for years."

"I still don't want to go to one now." He protested.

"Sammy, you're hallucinating." Dean's speaking was a bit calmer, but his voice still held an air of finality. "Now either you have a drug problem that I don't know about, or something is seriously wrong."

Okay, he had a point but, "What are you gonna tell the doctors Dean? Oh yeah, he was fine, until the spirit he killed felt the need to get one last shot in?"

"No. I'll just tell them you fell down the stairs and hit your head." Dean had an answer for everything.

"Yeah," Sam agreed sarcastically. "And besides the lack of actual head injuries, that makes total sense."

"You have a head injury."

Sam immediately lifted his hand to his skull, and after a moment of searching around lightly, he winced. Having found what he was looking for right above the base of his neck.

"You said I didn't..."

"Have any _major _injuries." Dean cut off his accusations. "A bump isn't major. But zoning in and out of reality is. So yeah, we're going to a doctor. Now."

"I feel..."

"I don't give a crap Sammy. We're going and that's..."

But Dean's angry voice was fading away once again, becoming more and more distant until it was...

_"Sammy. Sam. Come on, buddy."_

Sam was in the hospital again. Dean stood next to his bed, calling his name lightly. He smiled brightly when his brother's eyes focused on him.

Sam just snorted lightly. "I guess you won."

Dean looked confused and Sam realized that for all the inappropriate humor his older brother could dish out, he sucked when it came to having to put up with it sometimes.

"We're at the hospital." Sam said in way of an explanation. "Did you actually knock me out, or was I zoning again? What did you tell the doctors?"

"Whoa," Dean said, holding up his hands slightly. "Slow down Sammy, I have no clue what you're babbling about. Are you feeling okay? Jess said you weren't making much sense before."

"Jess?" He couldn't begin to describe all the emotions hearing her name roused within him.

Dean simply nodded.

"That's not funny." He said. There was bad humor, then there was just cruel.

"It wasn't supposed to be." Dean said slowly, then asked again, "Are you alright?"

Sam paused and thought before he spoke again. Which wasn't something he did that often. Where Dean was a, shoot it first, figure out what it was later, kind of guy. Sam was more of a, speak first; realize how stupid that sounded later, kind of guy.

It'd been that way for as long as he could remember, but right now he made an effort, and took a deep breath before speaking again.

"Ah... I feel, a little weird. Could you just tell me what's going on?"

Dean's face softened slightly. He was still Dean, and this was still his little brother, lying helplessly in a hospital bed. No matter what the circumstances, he could never deny him anything in this situation.

"You've been in a coma for two weeks. We all thought you were gonna die." Dean's voice cracked slightly and Sam wasn't sure if he liked causing so much vulnerability in his brother's normally rock solid persona.

"We?" Sam couldn't stop himself from asking.

"Yeah," he nodded, "Me, Jessica, mom and dad. We've all been worried sick."

"Who are you?" Sam asked suddenly and harshly. All his previous confusion abandoned as the likelihood of what was going on hit him.

This was too much. He couldn't face Dean, or anything that looked like him, saying these things to him. This wasn't his brother, it couldn't be. Dean wouldn't say these things, not unless they were true, and since they couldn't be true, that left only one logical explanation.

"You're not my brother." He said just as harshly, and ignored the idiotic guilt he felt when he saw Dean's face fall. "Who are you?"

"Sam," the Dean look alike said patiently. "I am your brother. I'm Dean. Who else would I be?"

"A shape shifter." Sam accused, trying his best to back away, which was a bit difficult, seeing as he couldn't get out of the bed he was in without taking his eyes away from this monster. "Or a demon, or... Something. But you're not my brother. Cristo. Cristo!" He cried desperately.

"What are you talking about Sammy?" He sounded so much like Dean. "Shape shifter? Demon? What is Cristo? You're not making any sense."

"_I'm _not making any sense?" He asked and laughed, almost hysterically. "You're standing there telling me that Jessica and mom and dad are all here? Alive? Not dead or...or unreachable? And _I'm_ not making any sense?"

The wanna-be Dean was now starring at him very oddly.

Good, Sam thought. Maybe whatever this thing was, masquerading as his brother would get angry and reveal what it really was.

His hope was dashed, when Dean's double simply backed out of the room slowly, with raised hands, muttering something about going to get a doctor.

"A doctor will know what's wrong."

"A doctor..."

"...doctor..."

And he was falling again. The voice was the same, the surroundings were more or less the same, but Sam blinked, and everything was different. Yet Dean was still speaking.

"Yeah Doctor that's it, that's what he's been doing."

"Sam." The doctor was an old man with a congested voice.

"Yeah?" He blinked, confused.

He was in still in a hospital bed, but it was different.

"Are you with us?"

"He wouldn't have said anything if he wasn't." Dean answered for him. If Sam could manage to get a grip, he was sure he would be thankful for his brother's sarcastic response.

"Right." The doctor agreed. "Now Sam, if you could, I'd like you to explain what it is you see when you...zone out, shall we say."

Sam's head was spinning slightly and he shot an anxious look at Dean. He didn't want to discuss it yet. He had to get his brother alone and ask him what was going on. More importantly, ask him if mom and Jessica were alive.

"Can't this wait a while, Doc?" Dean either caught the meaning behind his frantic look, or he was just getting naturally protective. One way or the other, Sam was grateful.

"I'm afraid not." Congested, nasal doctor insisted. "We don't know what's going on or how long he'll be responsive. What Sam is experiencing is highly unusual for a slight bump on the head. I have great reason to believe that something much more serious could be going on. We need to get as much information, as soon as possible."

Sam looked pleadingly at Dean, but his older brother just shrugged, seemingly agreeing with the man's logic.

He sighed and cleared his throat. "When I...zone out..." he trailed off, not really knowing how to explain it. Hell, he couldn't even tell if this was real, or a dream, or a nightmare, or a vision...

"Yes?" The doctor prompted, pen poised above a clipboard.

"I'm at a hospital. It's really a lot like this. Dean's there sometimes, and we talk..." Sam felt like an idiot. Both the doctor and his brother were starring at him as if he were speaking Swahili.

"I'm not sure I understand." The doctor said thoughtfully after a slight pause. "Your hallucinations seem to be, well, real. Reality."

"I know." Sam admitted. "That's what they _feel_ like too. But they're not."

"How can you tell?" Good God this doctor's voice was getting to him.

"Because I'm a fucking psychic."

"And on that note," Dean cut in, before nasal guy could say anything. "Would you mind leaving us alone for a while Doc?"

Dean had a hand on the doctor's back and was leading him towards the door before he had a chance to protest, still speaking hastily. "As you can tell, my brother can get a little cranky when he's upset. I promise I'll talk to him and fill you in. All right? Okay."

Soon enough, Dean had the old man in the hallway, his hand resting on the door jam. Just as his mouth opened, to protest, no doubt, Dean gave him his bright-toothed grin. Before shutting the door firmly behind him.

He turned to Sam, and without preamble asked, "Now what the hell is going on? And don't give me crap about a hospital." He sounded fed up.

"It wasn't crap." Sam said immediately. Dean just raised his eyebrows disbelievingly, but before he could say more, Sam spoke again. "Where's dad?"

Dean's brow crinkled in confusion. "Last we knew, California, remember?"

"And he's hunting the thing that killed mom and Jessica? The demon?" As disturbing as it was, these facts had become a comfort for Sam. Nothing good, but something real. Something he knew to be true.

"Yes, Sam." He answered slowly, his voice held more concern now. "Why?"

"That hospital I was talking about?" Dean nodded. "Well you're there. Only so are Jessica, and mom and dad. And you don't seem to believe in anything supernatural at all. Oh, and I've been in a coma for two weeks. There, not here." There was a long moment of silence. "Am I freaking you out yet?"

"Geez Sammy," he chuckled humorlessly "And I though your shining thing was the weirdest crap I was ever gonna have to put up with." Dean exhaled loudly, sounding slightly shaky. "What's going on with you Sam? Your zoning in and out, you're telling me you're in some different world, and mom..."

"I haven't actually seen her." Sam said quickly, almost defensively. He could have sworn Dean sounded jealous. "Just you and Jessica. Actually, the last thing I remember is yelling at you. Accusing you of being a demon or something, cause I mean, why else would you tell me mom and dad were here, there... and then you told me that there's no such thing as demons. Well, I don't think you actually said that. You were just really confused when _I_ said it. You said you were gonna get a doctor, then I blinked and I was here." He paused, taking a breath. "Oh, and you didn't flinch at Cristo."

"Good god Sammy, what in the hell is going on?"

"An excellent question." The female voice was young and professional. She was answering a question in another world. One that Sam was once again a part of, against his will. Something the female doctor quickly noticed. "Ah, awake I see."

All eyes in the room turned to stare at Sam, who was blinking rapidly. He sat up in bed without thinking about it. He was sick of lying down.

Five pairs of eyes were now starring at him. The doctor, Dean, his dad and Jessica were the only ones he could bring himself to focus on for the moment.

Dean looked scared and nervous. Jessica was much the same. His dad looked rather impassive, but Sam could tell by his wrinkled clothes and his unshaven face that the man hadn't slept in quite a while. The doctor's face stayed mostly professional, but Sam could detect a bit of curiosity there. Not really surprising, given the circumstances.

"Sammy." His name was spoken with such softness, such love; he couldn't help but look at the speaker.

Their eyes met, and for a second, he was back in his old home in Kansas. Being held by the poltergeist, unable to move, faced with something he never thought he'd get to see.

His voice was tight as he rasped desperately, tears pooling shamelessly in his eyes.

"…mom?"

End Chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Blackbird

Author: Oldach's Dream

Summary: Someone or Something is trying to trap Sam within his own mind. Alluring him with the promise of the normal life that he's always wanted. Will Dean be able to save his baby brother before he's gone forever?

Disclaimer: Supernatural defiantly isn't my creation.

Rating: M

0000000000000000000000

Previously:

His voice was tight as he rasped desperately, tears pooling shamelessly in his eyes.

"…mom?"

0000000000000000000000

Chapter Three:

"Sammy." She said again, and without warning, rushed over to his bedside and wrapped her arms around him tightly.

It was the most amazing feeling Sam could ever remember having. He felt comforted and secure, safe from everything in the world that would dare try to hurt him.

He was feeling the strength of a mother's love.

"Mom." He choked out again, and lifted his, suddenly very heavy, arms and wrapped them around her, holding on just as tightly as she was.

"Say you'll stay with us, Sammy." She sounded as if she were pleading with him.

She looked different than Sam had expected. Because somewhere, in some little back corner of his mind that he'd never admit to listening to, or even hearing, he _had _been expecting this.

Wanting it.

The only visions of Mary Winchester that Sam possessed were ones from old photographs and the brief memory of her spirit in their old house in Kansas. Another memory where someone he loved had burst into flames, before their time was truly up.

The person standing before him now resembled the woman that he held in his memories, but she was not the same. She looked older, her fine blonde hair, some of which was graying with age, like his father's was, pulled into a loose bun, not flowing around her.

She didn't look magically surreal. She was there, holding him. Touching him, comforting him.

She was real.

There were worry lines present on her face and Sam couldn't help but think that a lot of them might have been recently added. When she shivered slightly Sam had the urge to tell someone to go and get her a blanket, or turn up the heat. Before he realized that she probably wasn't shivering from the cold.

His mind snapped back to the words she had spoken.

"What?" He asked, shaking his head slightly, more than a little dazed.

"You've been blacking out Sam." She pulled away from him, falling into the waiting arms of her husband, and Sam wanted to scream and cry at the loss. "Going somewhere else."

"This isn't real." He said it out loud, remembering it for the first time since he'd seen his mother.

Which somehow felt as if it'd been light-years ago.

He was torn between two realms of thought. One where he knew that this wasn't actually happening. He didn't know what was causing this; but they dealt with paranormal phenomenon's everyday. Maybe this was a shift in dimensions, or the curse of a ghost, or something trying to make him go crazy.

Or perhaps, he thought, looking at the people surrounding him, he _was _going crazy. Maybe he had too many repressed desires and unasked questions. Too many regrets and losses that he never spoke of, ones he pushed to the deepest reaches of his mind and ignored day in and day out.

Maybe they had all finally manifested themselves, just like Doctor James Ellicott had told him they would. Before his dead father had messed with Sam's head and made him shoot his brother.

"Yes it is." This world's Dean spoke.

He too was different, although the changes were so slight; it wasn't at all shocking that Sam hadn't picked up on them before. Physically, this Dean looked identical to his Dean, the Dean he was used to, his other brother.

Good fucking God, even his internal dialogue was confusing.

Dean's appearance was not helping at all. They sported the same types of clothes, the same five o'clock shadow, the same perfectly kept, yet not at all preppy, hair.

The only notable differences between them, really, were in the way they talked. This Dean was much more soft spoken, gentle almost. Sam found himself at odds with that. He liked this sensitive brother, but he longed for the familiarity of his Dean's sarcasm and 'I don't give a flying fuck' attitude.

"Sam," the doctor was speaking this time. Which was good, as he didn't particularly feel like comparing anyone else with, anyone else.

The demon thing in his head was threatening to return.

"Yeah, that's me." He answered. "I hope anyway. That hasn't changed has it?"

He meant it as a joke, but the more he thought about it, the more legitimate of a worry it was.

Maybe this _was_ another dimension, and he had somehow switched places with the Sam that was supposed to be here. Dimensions and alternate realities were not things Sam had ever given much thought to, or any thought to actually. But why not? Why couldn't it be possible? _Something _was making this happen.

"Of course you're still you Sam." It was Jessica this time. She looked exactly the same as he remembered her. Only not dead anymore.

"Mr. Winchester, I need you to tell me exactly what happens when you... Go away from us." The doctor spoke professionally, but Sam couldn't stop himself from blanching.

It was completely irrelevant and should have been ignored, but the doctor's words grated on something inside him, an annoyance that he thought he had long forgotten.

"Geez, don't say that." He couldn't stop the mild shiver that raced up his spine.

"Say what?" The doctor asked, utterly confused, and slightly worried.

"Gone away from us." Only it was Dean answering. Good to know some things weren't that different.

When the doctor looked at him, he explained with a slight smirk, possibly as grateful as Sam was for the bit of familiarity.

"When we were kids we saw this movie. I can't remember the name of it anymore, but it scared the crap out of Sammy..."

"It was called 'Brazil', and what did you expect? I was twelve and the thing was freaking creepy." It was almost relieving, to be having such a regular conversation with Dean.

Because as much as he hated to admit it, or couldn't explain it, he knew this guy was his brother. Whether they were in a different world, or just a manifestation of Sam's subconscious, this _was_ Dean. At least, it wasn't something evil.

"The end was." Dean agreed. "But he hates that phrase, 'gone away from us.'"

The doctor looked at him, and Sam shrugged. "The main character had my name. It was a weird movie."

"I'm not familiar with it." She said, sounding almost amused. Sam noted absently that he preferred her voice to the congested one of the doctor at the other hospital. "But I think we've sidetracked enough." She cleared her throat and sounded, once again, professional and detached.

"Now Sam, I need you to tell me what happens, when you...when you black out. When you're not here."

"I'm in the real world." Sam didn't care how much these people sounded or acted like the real version of who they were supposed to be. He didn't care what emotions they made him feel or how much he trusted them. He didn't care that he knew this Dean was really his brother.

They couldn't be real.

Not real for him, anyway.

They couldn't.

Could they?

"Sam," she sighed patiently. "This is the real world."

"No it's not." He insisted. He would not go crazy. He would _not _go crazy.

"Okay," she agreed rather easily, obviously wanting to try a different tactic. "Then why don't you tell me why not. Why isn't this world real, Sam?"

He sighed out a heavy breath, but answered patiently; already knowing they wouldn't believe him. "Because in the real world, you," he pointed to his father. "Are in California and you won't let us come and find you. You," he gestured towards Dean. "Are a sarcastic pain in the ass with a hero complex. And you two." His voice cracked slightly as he looked at the only two women who had ever loved him. "Are dead."

A silence fell over the room and Sam had a feeling it would have lasted an eternity, if Dean hadn't snorted lightly a few moments into it. Asking sarcastically, "Why would you want to live in a place like that?"

All eyes in the room turned to his older brother, and Sam realized that this Dean possessed some of his Dean's tendencies towards inappropriate humor after all.

"What?" He asked innocently at the stares. "Seems like a crappy place to want to live. Other than, you know, the fact that I'm there."

"I don't really have a choice in the matter." Sam defended, and felt rather odd doing so.

He would not go crazy. He would not go crazy.

Whoops. He thought stupidly. Too late.

"Paranormal Activity." Jessica said quite suddenly. All eyes turned to her, and Sam thought vaguely that this hospital room had turned into something resembling an ongoing tennis match. With everyone's eyes constantly darting back and forth.

"Come again?" Dean asked after a few beats of silence.

"Paranormal Activity." She repeated, as if that should clarify everything.

"Yeah, I'm still not getting it." Dean said casually and shrugged. His voice was lighter than it had been the first time Sam had shown up here.

He seemed to be okay with his brother's apparent mental condition. As long as Sam was physically there with them, and not accusing him of being evil, Dean seemed quite content.

"Your life, Sam." Jessica turned to him. She had that look in her eyes, the one that she got when she was excited, and eager to share that excitement with everyone. "Your '_real' _life." She used air quotes around 'real'. "Do you spend it hunting paranormal stuff, evil things?"

All eyes focused on him, and Sam's own eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Yeah..."

"With Dean right? You guys hunt evil, and your dad hunts the monster that killed your mom when you were kids, and your girlfriend... me, right? I..."

"I thought you said...you're trying to get me to believe..." Sam didn't know how to phrase what he was trying to say.

As disturbing as it was, he had started to think of this world as just that, a different world. The logical part of his brain told him that none of this could really exist, and if it did, he sure as hell wasn't meant to be here. Yet he _was _still here, feeling very much a part of this world.

Whether he liked it or not, all of this _felt _very real. Very normal. Until Jessica had started describing the real, _real world _to him. Like she knew all about it.

It couldn't work both ways, could it? How could they know about his world, when he knew nothing of there's? How could any of this work at all?

Sam was a part of two different realities, that much he had been dealing with. Not that he had a choice in the matter, but _this,_ Jess's knowledge, it was too mind boggling to even contemplate at the moment. His breathing quickened, and he remembered suddenly that there was more pain in this world. Coughing fits and intense headaches.

"Breathe Sam." He had been starring at Jessica and couldn't tell if the order came from his father or his brother, they had always sounded remarkably similar when they were dispensing orders.

He obeyed on instinct either way, and the next words unmistakably came from Dean, his voice was more serious and defensive than it had been just moments before. The sight of Sam freaking out undoubtedly snapping him back into protective big brother mode. Another sure fire way to indicate that he was indeed Dean.

"What are you talking about Jessica?" He asked sternly

"That's what you were talking about before," Jess went on, ignoring him. "You said Dean was a demon. Or a shape shifter, right?"

"Jessica." Mary spoke the word harshly and the girl in question turned to look at her boyfriend's mother, who was sounding very on edge. "How do you know all this?"

"Sam, honey." She took a step closer to him and gripped his hand, as she had done before. Speaking to him softly, her eyes now held understanding. "That's not reality. It's the plot of the book you're writing."

End Chapter.

A/N:

Yeah, okay, I know, crazy right?

Don't worry, it does all fit together, or it will,you just have to keep reading.

In the mean time, I reall, really want to know what you think, so,

Review? Please?


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Blackbird

Author: Oldach's Dream

Summary: Someone or Something is trying to trap Sam within his own mind. Alluring him with the promise of the normal life that he's always wanted. Will Dean be able to save his baby brother before he's gone forever?

Disclaimer: Supernatural defiantly isn't my creation.

Rating: M

00000000000000000000

Chapter Four

Sam sat up, blinking rapidly.

It was an odd sensation. Waking up here, knowing that he had just left another world, so to speak. Switched realms. He was left the factual knowledge of what had happened, but the emotions he had experienced while there, the panic and disbelief; it was dulled here. He knew why he had felt it, but he had to get a grip on his surroundings, before new emotions had a chance to form.

This hospital room was a little different, Sam noted absently, as he took a few deep breaths. The room he had been in before was large enough for his entire family, plus the nice doctor, to stand comfortably. It held a couch even, in front of the window a few feet to the bed's left. Although when he had been present in it last, no one had been seated on it.

This room, however, was big enough to fit only one uncomfortable looking chair, which Dean was currently slouched down in, snoring lightly. The door, which lead to the hospital hallway, was right in front of his bed. While at the other one, it was to his right. An observation window sat where this one's door did.

"Dean." He said, without really thinking about it.

"What..." his brother was awake immediately, jerking into a more upright sitting position and rubbing his eyes. "Sam?"

"The one and only." He joked, but then cringed, remembering his own worries in the other world. He couldn't help adding, "Kind of."

"Not funny." Dean said immediately.

"Nah, not really." Sam agreed easily. He did not want to fight right now.

"You okay?"

"You mean other then the fact that I'm going completely nuts?" San clarified. "Yeah, I'm fucking peachy."

"You're not going nuts." Dean insisted. Sam really didn't want to hear the hope in his brother's voice. It wasn't often that Dean held irrational hope for anything, and Sam didn't want to think about how disappointed he would be when he realized he was wrong.

So instead of answering the statement, he asked instead, "Do you remember that movie we saw when we were kids? The really creepy one that had me freaked out for days?"

"Brazil?" This Dean remembered the name. "What about it?"

"Do you remember it?" He asked again. "What it was about, I mean."

"Yeah. Well, it's been a while, but I remember the end. The guy..."

"Sam, his name was Sam."

Dean cringed, obviously having figured out where this was going. "Yeah, him. He got tortured..."

"He had a complete mental breakdown." Sam said, very matter of fact, he didn't like the way his brother was dodging around it. "He escaped into his own mind."

"That's not what your doing." Dean said at once.

Sam gave him an angry look. "How do you know? How else do you explain this, Dean? This sure as hell isn't normal." He paused for a second. "Actually _it _is."

Dean gave him a confused look and Sam pressed on. "That other world, mental breakdown place, whatever the fuck it is. It _is_ normal. Everything there is normal."

"Well then, I guess you know it's not real." He smirked hopefully and Sam glared.

"It feels real, Dean. When I'm there, it _is _real." Sam sighed and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Hell, maybe it is real. Maybe this is what I'm making up."

"Sam..." Dean started, but Sam cut him off, with another seemingly random question.

"I wrote a lot when we were kids didn't I?" He asked. "I know I was always good at it, I always liked it, but I never really had time to do it that much in high school. What with the hunting and the training and the fighting."

"Ah..." Dean rubbed the back of his neck slightly. "Yeah, actually, now that you mention it. I could never get you to stop making up stories when you were in elementary school. I remember a lot of the teacher's you had, said that you had a gift for it." Dean smiled and Sam couldn't help but notice that it looked proud. "Then again, a lot of your teachers also had to call dad because you would always lie to the other kids."

"They weren't lies." Sam felt the need to defend his younger self's behavior, now that the conversation had been breached, he was recalling the answer to his own question. He had asked it really only to start a conversation. "They were just creatively embellished versions of real hunts we'd gone on."

"And that's so much better." Dean said sarcastically and Sam looked sheepish. All right, that was fair.

"You know, I..." Dean trailed off, and he got that look he sometimes got when he knew he shouldn't have opened his mouth in the first place.

"What?" Sam asked immediately.

Dean sighed, but answered nonetheless. "It was nothing major." He pre-warned. "It's just, when you were in about, fourth grade, I guess. Your 'lying' and 'story telling' got so bad that you had to get evaluated by the school shrink."

"The guy with the bright green sweater vest? The one who looked like Santa Clause?" Sam asked, knowing instantly what event Dean was talking about. It was one of the things he had pushed into the farthest reaches of his mind, until now.

"I guess." He shrugged. "I never saw the guy. But dad told me he said you had a, slight detachment from reality."

Sam snorted, "Well that's ironic."

"Sam," Dean's voice was very level. How it got when he was explaining something important and he wanted to be sure his little brother was listening. "You were living in a house surrounded by stuff that no one else believed in. Supernatural stuff that anyone normal would call crazy, if we ever told them about it. It's not all the surprising that the school shrink thought you had detachment issues."

"The guy, Sam, from that movie, he had detachment issues too, look what happened to him."

Dean shot him an exasperated look, but kept going, ignoring his brother's comment. "Me and dad just figured it was a phase you were going through. The need to get attention, or...I don't know, just a phase. And we were right, by the time you hit middle school, you learned to keep quiet about our home life. You stopped writing stories too."

Sam nodded, understandingly. It made sense. Now that Dean had brought it all up, he did remember most of the details from that phase of his young life. He had stopped writing more because their dad had sat him down and explained, rather threateningly, or at least it seemed threatening to a nine year old, that he couldn't go around telling their secrets to everyone.

The Winchester's had a very important family business. And if anyone ever found out about it, their lives would be in danger. They did what they did; and they shut up about it.

Needless to say, at the end of his little speech, Sam had been too frightened to even think about telling another story that wasn't entirely based on facts. Facts you could find in a history textbook, that teachers could agree on with without compliant.

By the time he had been old enough to no longer care what his father thought, or to posses the common sense that might allow him to tell stories without giving away their secrets, he no longer held any desire to.

"Sam?" Dean questioned after a few moments of quiet. "Where is this coming from?"

"Take a wild guess." He snapped.

"Dude, don't be a dick, I'm trying to help." He snapped right back.

"Sorry." Sam said, rightfully apologetic. He was on edge, that much was obvious, but there was no reason to take it out on him.

"Damn straight." Dean nodded. "Now explain."

"Jessica...she, in the other world... she knew what I was talking about...she knew about the stuff we fight." Sam explained, his words lacking eloquence.

"How?" Dean sounded baffled, not even bothering to tease his brother's stammering.

"Because apparently it's the plot of a book I'm writing." Sam smiled a bright, fake smile, which quickly faded into a smaller, slightly apologetic one.

Dean however, just looked rather thoughtful. "You know, that kind of makes sense."

"You're joking me right?" Sam asked dubiously. "You want to try to make _sense _out of this thing?"

"Think about it Sam." He requested.

"I have been thinking about it." He paused. "Actually, I've been living it."

"Then don't you think it would make sense, that whatever's doing this, would try to make it as believable as possible?"

Sam jerked slightly. "What do you mean, whatever's doing it?" He had been thinking the same things in the other world, but now that he was back here, he was more doubtful. Not to mention cynical.

"What, you think your actually going crazy?" Dean asked doubtfully. "Come on Sam. You may be psychic... A topic we _will _deal with more later. But you're not crazy. Not this kind of crazy anyway."

Sam had to smirk lightly at his brother's attempt at a joke, but he couldn't keep the doubt out of his wavering voice when he spoke again. "What else could be causing this?"

"That's what I've been trying to tell you since you woke up, but your stupid ass wouldn't stop asking questions." Sam rolled his eyes and Dean continued. "I've been looking all over the web, I found some, rare, ancient magical texts at some funky old bookstore downtown. I even conned one of the hot nurses into letting me borrow a couple medical textbooks..."

"How long have I been out?" Sam couldn't help but interrupt, the research Dean was describing sounded pretty in-depth.

"Twenty two hours." Dean answered immediately, and ignored Sam's widening eyes. "Like I was saying, what's happening to you is rare, but it's not unheard of. A higher-level demonic creature or, more likely, a witch could be doing this. It's not all the hard to pull off if you have enough power. It's just a matter of too many...ah," he gestured, making a circular motion with his hand. "That thing that changes all the time..."

"Variables?" Sam supplied and Dean snapped his fingers.

"Exactly. Too many variables." He went on. "You have to know the person you're cursing pretty damn well, to be able to trap them inside their own head. It's medically explainable too, which makes it that much harder to identify and fight. "

"And you think someone's doing that?" Sam asked hopefully. "Using a spell to trap me in my own head?"

"How else would you explain all this Sammy?" Dean asked ludicrously.

"Well, I was kind of partial to the, 'I'm going insane' theory."

Without warning, Dean's hand came up and slapped his shoulder angrily. "Hey!" Sam protested.

"You are _not _going insane." Dean said firmly. "And if you say that one more time, I'm gonna have to kick your sorry ass."

"Alright," he agreed with a small smile, rubbing his shoulder lightly. "I'm not insane."

He wasn't sure if he believed it entirely, but he knew it was what his brother wanted to hear.

"Good." Dean said, and resettled himself on his chair slightly. "That having been said..." he took a deep breath. "You have to go to a mental hospital tomorrow."

"What!" Sam exclaimed angrily.

"Calm down." His brother said quietly. "It's not because you're crazy."

"Really?" Sam asked, outraged. "Because the last time I checked, mental institution equaled crazy."

"It's not like that." His brother cringed openly at the venom in Sam's words.

"Really?" He bit out. "Then why don't you explain how it _is _then?" He crossed his arms over his chest.

"What am I supposed to do Sam? You're blacking out randomly. You can't go hunting like this." Dean spoke somewhere between patiently and anxiously, needing his little brother to understand his logic.

Sam sighed, as much as he hated to admit it, that did make sense. He was a tad bit indisposed at the moment. But still, "Why can't I just stay at this hospital?" He asked.

"It's a tiny rural town, in the middle of nowhere, New Hampshire, they don't exactly have a lot of extra space. They won't let you stay here unless you have an actual, physical, medical problem. I was talking to the doctor yesterday." Dean explained, sounding somewhat relieved at Sam's seeming compliance. "They have a psychiatric hospital that's technically a part of this hospital. It's a couple miles away, but it doesn't cost anything."

Sam opened his mouth to protest, but Dean knew his kid brother too well, and continued before he had the chance.

"And it's safer than a motel, or the car, or anywhere else at the moment. I'm not gonna be able to hunt this thing down and kill it if I don't know your safe. And

I can't protect you while I'm hunting. And don't even say you can take care of yourself, cause you can't right now. Whether you like it or not." Dean's gaze was set and his words logical, professional almost, which was really saying something, coming from Dean.

Sam sighed. "How are you even gonna find it?" His question indicting that he had given up the last of his protests regarding the mental institution, for the moment.

"Well, I'm actually gonna need your help for that part. See, for any spell like this to work, the person casting it has to have a personal item of the one they're casting it on."

"Personal like, favorite T-shirt personal?" He asked, sounding hopeful. "Or personal like..." Sam trailed off and Dean nodded.

"Personal like, hair, blood, any bodily fluid really." Dean answered and Sam cringed, not wanting to think about how some evil thing, person, had gone about acquiring that from him, without his knowledge.

"That's gross."

"Yes it is." Dean agreed and smiled somewhat morbidly. "But I need the same thing if I'm gonna find whatever it is that's casting the spell."

Sam sighed and dodged the subject for a moment. "Who do you think is even doing this? I mean, the last time we checked, we didn't exactly have any human enemies."

Dean shrugged. "We've pissed off a lot of people over the years Sammy. I'm sure at least a few would be more than willing to dip into the dark arts to get revenge."

"Yeah, I guess." Sam said agreeably. "Personally, I'd rather fight a monster."

"Not many monsters could pull off anything this complex." Dean launched into explanation mode. "Even the thing that killed mom. Demons, monsters, ghosts, spirits. All they ever really want is death and destruction, or revenge. Or some combination of all that."

"I know, I know, nothing inhuman could do this." Sam said, he decided to keep his theories about alternate dimensions to himself for the time being.

"Which brings us back to finding out who's doing this." Dean reminded and Sam groaned slightly.

"Well, you can have some of my hair." Sam said. "But you're not gettin' anything else."

"Actually..." Dean started.

"Oh, come on!" He exclaimed, he had a feeling about where this was going.

"The location spell I found works better if I have more than one." Dean grinned hopefully, and Sam knew he really didn't have a choice in the matter.

So he rolled his eyes agreeably but mumbled to himself, "I think I'd rather stay crazy."

End Chapter.

A/N: Well, you know what they say: Reviews inspire the muses!


	5. Chapter 5

Title: Blackbird

Author: Oldach's Dream

Summary: Someone or Something is trying to trap Sam within his own mind. Alluring him with the promise of the normal life that he's always wanted. Will Dean be able to save his baby brother before he's gone forever?

Disclaimer: Supernatural defiantly isn't my creation.

Rating: M

00000000000000000000

Chapter Five

"You know we don't have a good history with Asylums." Sam protested half heartedly as Dean helped him out of the car early the next morning. He shook off his brother's helping hands, though. Much the same way Dean had done to Sam when he'd been dying.

"Well, how 'bout you just promise not to shoot me this time?" He suggested with a patented smirk, making sure to keep close to his brother, should he black out.

"No guarantees." Sam mumbled. He already didn't like the look of the place he was being forced to stay.

He knew Dean didn't have a choice in the matter, and honestly, if he were in the same position his brother was, he knew he probably wouldn't be doing anything differently. So he fought down the feeling in the pit of his stomach that told him Dean was abandoning him.

He fought down the much more disturbing one that said the Dean from the other world would never do anything like this.

If he started thinking like that, well, he didn't really know what would happen, but quite frankly, he doubted it would be good.

Dean was the only family he really had anymore. He was certainly the only person he could count on. They were brothers. They'd never do anything to intentionally hurt each other.

Or so he kept telling himself, desperately trying to make that nervous, churning feeling in his gut recede.

"Home sweet home." Dean mumbled, as they reached the entrance of the hospital facility.

"I don't like this place." Sam said as they entered.

"I don't blame you."

The place reeked of mental instability. It was apparent the moment they entered the two story building, and it was so disturbing, it made Sam want to run back outside to the safety of the Impala.

Made him want to say, fuck the risks, there's no way in hell I'm staying here.

Screw it, he thought after taking in his surroundings. "Fuck the risks, there's no way in hell I'm staying here."

All the walls, within immediate view, were white. You could scarcely make out the doors that lined the hallways. They were visible only through the tiny square windows that accompanied each one.

For as white as the walls were, that's how not soundproof they were. The moans and mumblings of the other terminal mental patients echoed throughout the building. Background noise that was impossible to ignore, that made Sam squirm uncomfortably.

"I can assure you," a voice sounded behind them and it made Sam and Dean both jump and turn around, immediately alert. A middle aged, black haired, man in an all white doctor's uniform stood before them, obviously having heard Sam's comments. "Our facilities offer nothing but the best care around."

"Right," Dean said slowly and skeptically, "and you are?"

"Forgive me," he said. There was something about his voice that Sam just did not like, it was too throaty. He sounded almost like he was whispering, only Sam couldn't tell if that was just the way he spoke, or if it was something he'd acquired over time, having to speak calmly and placatingly to patients. "My name is Dr. Kabala. I run this, lovely vacation paradise." He smiled at his own joke, revealing his yellowing teeth. "Now you two, you must be the Winchester's."

"Yeah," Dean once again answered for the both of them. "This is my brother, Sam, he's gonna be staying here for a while."

"Sam," the doctor gave him a quick once over that made him want to crawl out of his skin. "It's good to meet you. Dr. Arnold told me all about you. A fascinating case, if I do say so myself."

"Yeah." Sam grunted, not knowing how else to respond. He didn't want to stay here. Maybe he was being a baby, but he didn't care so much.

Logically, he knew Dean was right. This was the only safe place for him at the moment.

Funny, it didn't feel so safe.

"I noticed Mr. Winchester," Dr. Kabala went back to speaking to his brother as if Sam was not there, or a child who cold not understand them. "That on the forms you filled out, you haven't given us permission to administer any actual medical treatments to your brother, now is that a mistake..."

"Oh, no." Dean said easily. "See, Sam's condition is very treatable. I just have to go see a, _specialist _that our family knows. I'll be back in no time."

"Yes, well." The weird doctor sounded extremely skeptical and Sam wanted to shoot him in the chest with rock salt.

"Really." Dean insisted. "No medication is necessary. In fact, I'm beginning to think maybe this whole place is unnecessary."

"No, Mr. Winchester, trust me when I say that your brother will be in very competent hands." He sounded almost scared at the thought of Sam not staying.

"I don't know..." Dean looked unsure and shot a glance at his brother. "What do you think Sammy?"

I think I want to get the hell out of here and never lay eyes on this place ever, ever again. But, "You need to go see that specialist." He couldn't help but smirk at the word choice, knowing exactly where Dean had gotten it from. "Go and see about that thing we talked about. You won't be gone long, right?"

The night before, Sam had done everything necessary for Dean's spell to work correctly. He smirked slightly at the memories.

_"There." Sam stated evenly, emerging from the bathroom. He handed his brother, who was spread out comfortably on the hospital bed, the tiny glass vile. _

_Sam sighed dramatically. "Hair, blood," He held up his pointer finger, which was now sporting a band-aid. The next word made him shiver slightly, "Toenail." He went on, ignoring his disgust. "So, unless you want me to piss in that thing..."_

_"Well..." Sam shot his brother a look that quite clearly said, 'Go to hell.'_

_"I'm kidding," Dean continued, chuckling. "Piss wouldn't actually be useful, since it's just the reformation of an outside stimuli."_

_"Stop quoting textbooks." Sam snapped, yet couldn't help feeling relieved. He didn't want to think about how he would have gotten that particular bodily fluid into the small vile._

_Dean rolled his eyes, before gesturing to the book resting in his lap. "Actually, there is one more thing that would make it almost a hundred percent accurate." Sam raised his eyebrows in question, and his brother responded after a slight pause. "Sweat."_

_"Sweat?" Sam repeated, dumbfounded. Dean simply nodded._

_The younger of the two stared for a second, before accusing, "You've been reading Stephen King again, haven't you?"_

_"No." Dean exclaimed immediately. Sam raised his eyebrows, his face shifting into a look of utter disbelief. "Sweat has sacred qualities. It's useful in almost every form of witchcraft. Especially anything, you know, personal like this."_

_Sam continued to stare. _

_"Blink or something man, that's creepy." Dean sounded annoyed and Sam knew he was caving. "I looked it up!" His brother defended hotly._

_It only took a few more seconds of Sam's relentless starring to break the elder Winchester. "Fine!" He finally snapped. "I looked it up because of a Stephen King story, happy?"_

_"Yeah," Sam said truthfully. He'd always gotten a kick out of using that look on Dean. _

_Honestly, he was also extremely grateful for the normalcy of the situation. Bickering with his big brother, whether it be about something normal or supernatural, even something incredibly serious; it had always made him feel safe, calm. A non chick flick version of comfort. _

_Dean rolled his eyes and gestured impatiently. "Just cause you never want to admit the man is a genius..."_

_"We are _not _getting into this argument." Sam decided, before his brother's praises of the fickle author could begin. _

_"Whatever," Dean replied hotly. "But I'm still right."_

_"Stephen King is not the most influential author in paranormal writings." Sam began the argument, even after his declaration that it would not be started. "He's a weirdo with a pen."_

_"You just don't like him cause 'IT' freaked you out." Dean teased._

_"Dude!" Sam exclaimed, wishing he had something to whip at his older brother's head. "Did you really have to read it to me when I was nine?"_

_"I thought it would give you a greater sense of understanding." He said, still smirking. "We face scary shit man, you needed to understand that."_

_"I understood that," Sam pointed out. "I'd already seen, ghosts, poltergeists. A werewolf." He stated plainly, giving his brother an agitated look._

_"Yet a book about a killer clown freaked you out." Dean looked up, mockingly puzzled. "Go figure."_

_"You're the one who refuses to see the movie." Sam retaliated._

_"A book like that cannot justifiably be made into a movie," he argued. "It would totally ruin it."_

_"And you're afraid of clowns." _

_"No, little brother," Dean smirked. "That's you."_

_"Your fault." Sam reminded him snippily._

_ "Maybe so." Dean agreed, then looked up, smiling widely. "But you're still afraid of clowns."_

_"You're scared of airplanes." Sam snapped. _

_Dean's face fell for a second, before he looked triumphant again, "You still don't like using the rifle." He said it as if he were making a point._

_"It broke my collar bone." Sam said, then continued quickly. "Once. I have no problem using it now. Besides, I'm not the one who sleeps with dagger under my pillow." _

_"Precaution." Dean defended at once. "Although it probably couldn't save you from a killer doll."_

_"Dolls and clowns are the same thing." Sam argued. "They only count as one fear."_

_"Clowns and dolls are _not _the same." His older brother smirked. "One scared the crap out of you when you were nine, one did when you were seven."_

_Sam sighed, feeling somewhat defeated. "I had seriously irrational childhood phobias, didn't I?"_

_It was a pointless question, as both knew the answer. It was actually something brought up a lot when he'd been younger. _

_As a child, Sammy could face demons and ghosts, and everything else he saw on the job, without so much as flinching. But scary works of fiction had him running to Dean's room in a flash._

_"Don't feel too bad, man," Dean tried to comfort him. "Chucky freaked me out too." _

_"Yeah, sure." Sam gave in. He paused for a few moments, remembering what had started this conversation in the first place. "So," he started, sounding unsure. "Sweat?"_

_"Yup." Dean nodded. _

_"I don't suppose they have a sauna here, huh?" Sam asked the question with no hope._

_Dean snorted, "No, defiantly not."_

_Sam groaned dramatically. "So, I have to, what? Jog around the lobby?"_

_Dean's face lit up. "That's a good idea."_

_"Hey now," Sam tried to stop his older brother, before the idea got planted in his head. "What did you have in mind?"_

_"I didn't." Dean shrugged. "Run in place, maybe."_

_Sam sighed. "I'll jog around the lobby." He decided. That somehow sounded much less stupid than running in place. "But you're jogging with me." _

_"Am I now?" Dean raised an eyebrow._

_"Yeah, come on." Sam coaxed. "We haven't jogged together since dad was on that 'hunting conditioning' kick. That was a pain in the ass." He recalled._

_"You were the one who brought up soccer conditioning." Dean reminded. _

_"And I much rather would have done that." Sam said, but was quick to get back on topic this time. "So what do ya say, wanna go for a jog?"_

_"Around a hospital lobby." The elder Winchester stated plainly, before smiling widely. "Sure, why not? There's too much irony there to pass up."_

What had started off as a friendly, brotherly jog, had quickly escalated into a competition of sorts. They had raced each other to every destination within reach, quite a few times over. The youngest Winchester instating a redo, every time his older brother bested him, and Dean doing the same, when Sam was victorious.

It had lasted well over an hour, and probably would have gone on longer, if an irate nurse had not come out of a nearby room and informed them that they were disturbing other patients.

All in all, the had gotten what they needed. Both brothers were breathing hard, and sweating profusely. Sam's was quickly collected inside the vile.

Later that night, Dean had gone out to the Impala for roughly half an hour. Sam had wanted to be present for the casting of the spell, but Dean said it was unnecessary and that he should get some rest. Protective big brother Dean was roaring his head, and Sam found it too tiring to argue with him.

At that point, he had been feeling so normal, so right; he had drifted to sleep with the distant thought that this was just another hunt. Another, every day, common, run of the mill, hunt. The thought had been enough to allow him a peaceful nap, before Dean reentered the room, and told him what he'd discovered.

The spell had pointed to somewhere in Colorado, near Denver. It was about ten hours away, but honestly, Sam had just been happy that the spell worked at all. At least it proved that there was someone out there _doing _this to him.

It proved that he wasn't crazy.

"I'll be fine." Sam insisted now, shaking his head slightly to clear himself of the memories. Okay, so maybe he was a little crazy.

"You're sure?" Dean checked again and Sam nodded affirmatively, afraid that if he opened his mouth, his real feelings would spill over the edge, and his brother was dangerously close to backing down as it was.

Sam knew that he really didn't _have _to stay here. But Dean had admitted it himself last night, he wouldn't be able to find out who was doing this if he was worried Sam might fall over into a dead faint at any moment. Leaving him completely defenseless for _anything _that might attack him.

He'd rather let his big brother go off and hunt by himself for a week or two, rather than risk going with him and getting them both killed. It made him feel helpless and weak, but he honestly did not see another plausible option.

Neither did Dean. "Alright." He finally gave in, managing to sound both relieved and reluctant. "Call my cell if you need anything."

"Sure thing, dad." Sam answered sarcastically, the lightness in his voice convincingly faked.

"You're making the right decision." Dr. Kabala assured him, sounding delighted at this outcome. "Sam will be quite comfortable here. He'll get his own room, his own staff of nurses. Ready and willing to serve him at a moments notice."

"Hope they're hot." Dean joked.

"Everything is well taken care of." Dr. Kabala was ushering him out the door. "You just go find that specialist, Sam will be waiting here when you get back."

Dean took one final, long look at Sam before nodding curtly and returning to the outside world.

It wasn't until he heard the Impala start up, and tear out of the parking lot, that Sam felt truly alone.

0000000000000000000

"Home Sweet home." Sam echoed Dean's earlier words to himself.

He really didn't like this place, and he didn't think it was just because he was having bad, Roosevelt Asylum, flashbacks. This place had a vibe, something was off about it.

"You settling in nicely?" Dr. Kabala's voice sounded from the doorway of Sam's room. If you could call it that, it was more like a box with a bed and a tiny window.

He'd stayed in cheap motels better than this. He'd been in actual jail cells that felt less confining. But hey, at least he wasn't sharing it with some psycho.

"Just great," he said, not bothering to try and hide the sarcasm. He'd prefer the doctor with the sinus issues over this guy anytime. Congested doctor, Dr. Arnold, he supposed, was irritating and obnoxious.

Dr. Kabala was scary.

"You should really try and be more positive, Sam." He was leaning casually on the door jam of the room. "You'll get used to it here soon enough."

"No I won't." He said immediately, attempting to stay calm. "Dean's gonna be back in a couple days. I don't have to get used to anything."

Dr. Kabala sighed "That's how it always starts." He spoke as if he were explaining something to a young child, almost sympathetically. "I see it all the time Sam. A loved one wanting only to do what's best."

"What do you mean?" He asked in spite himself.

"You're mentally unwell, Sam. Your brother sees that and recognizes it as a problem. He's gone off to try and find a solution. But do you honestly think it's going to work?" The doctor stood up straighter and Sam couldn't help but feel as if he were being challenged.

"Yes." He said firmly. "Dean can find an answer."

"You have a lot of faith in him." Dr. Kabala noted, rather passively. "Younger brother hero worship." He shook his head sadly. "What's going to happen when he realizes he can't fix it, Sam? What then?"

"He _will _fix it." His voice was steady but there was growing fear coursing throughout him.

He couldn't tell if he was scared that what the doctor was saying might be true, or if he just feared the doctor. Either one seemed pretty legitimate at this point.

"He'll make it all better?" He mocked and Sam's face contorted in anger and a little shock. "No he won't." He answered himself. "He'll realize what a hindrance you are, and he'll leave you here. Forever"

"Shut up." Sam said fiercely, taking a threatening step towards the man.

Who was this guy? What kind of doctor said these things? He knew quite suddenly that all his feelings about this place had been correct, and he wanted desperately to get out. Now.

"Easy there Sam." He said as if Sam was the one who was out of line, his voice back to that of a professional doctor. "I think maybe it's time for you to get some rest. You seem a little irritable."

"You sick fuck." He seethed.

"Goodbye Sam." He said with a morbid grin, before leaving the room swiftly, and shutting the door firmly behind him.

Sam was at the door moments later, pounding furiously when the knob wouldn't budge.

"Let me out of here!" The yells held fierce anger, "Let me out! You fucking twisted psycho!"

But he knew it was pointless. No one would be coming to save him, and he was incapable of saving himself. The doctor had taken his bags as soon as Dean had left earlier, claiming that he was going to have a nurse put them in his room. He hadn't seen them since.

He should have listened to that gut feeling when he had the chance. He should have told Dean to get him the fuck away from this place when he had the chance. He'd acted rationally, not wanting to make things harder for his brother. Trying desperately to convince himself that he was wrong, that Grandville's psychiatric hospital was a perfectly safe place to be.

He hadn't wanted to risk getting hurt, or getting Dean hurt if he suddenly became immobile. He was trying to be safe. He was trying to do the right thing. Yet it hadn't turned out that way at all. Once again, he had fucked it all up.

He'd rather be unconscious in his brother's Impala, than be perfectly healthy in this hell hole. Where the doctor's were as crazy as the patients.

Sam had no idea what was going on with this place. If Dean was here, they could figure it out together. Like they always did.

But his big brother wasn't here. Sam backed into the corner of the room, giving up on his feeble attempts to knock down the door, and fell onto the bed, curling up into as small of a ball as his height would allow.

He closed his eyes and begged whoever might be listening to take him back to the other reality. To take him anywhere where his brother hadn't abandoned him. Anyplace he didn't feel completely and utterly alone.

End Chapter.

00000000000000000000000

A/N:

This really does just keep getting stranger, huh?

Yeah well, review, and maybe I'll let you in on how it ends: )


	6. Chapter 6

Title: Blackbird

Author: Oldach's Dream

Summary: Someone or Something is trying to trap Sam within his own mind. Alluring him with the promise of the normal life that he's always wanted. Will Dean be able to save his baby brother before he's gone forever?

Disclaimer: Supernatural defiantly isn't my creation.

Rating: M

00000000000000000000

Chapter Six:

Sam woke with tears in his eyes.

His sleep had been plagued with feelings of self doubt, vulnerability and weakness. He'd had nightmares in which he'd refaced the worst experiences of his life. And had been disappointed, time and time again, about how weak he'd been. How pathetic.

He was a coward. He'd proven it so many times. When he failed to take a risk. When he stayed securely within his comfort zone. When he abandoned the only life he'd ever known, to chase a fickle dream. When he'd turned his back on his family. On his brother.

Dean had once told him that he admired Sam for the way he went after what he wanted, that he was proud of him, for standing up to their dad. He had almost admitted that he wished he possessed the same courage. But Dean would never really say that. He would never turn his back on their dad like that. He was the good son.

Remembering his big brother's uncharacteristic confession did not bring the comfort that it should have. It left him feeling even guiltier. How could Sam be that selfish, and then get praised for it? How could Dean not hate him?

Because he hated himself sometimes. He hated that he had abandoned Dean, turned his back on him, when all he ever did was take care of him, protect him. Hell, Dean had basically raised him, for fuck's sake. And how did he repay him? He left for college and barely even bothered to call.

His brother could have been hurt, could have died, anytime in those four years. And Sam wouldn't even have known. He wouldn't have wanted to know. Because ignorance is bliss, and he'd wished his entire life for ignorance. From the things he saw, hunted and killed every day.

Going to Stanford had been the most guilt wrenching experience of his entire life, but it wasn't the leaving his father that had haunted him all those sleepless nights in his dorm. It wasn't the thought of all the innocents that could die because he wouldn't be there to save them. Those thoughts certainly made their appearances, he could not deny that.

But, what had made him feel _truly _pathetic and selfish, every single goddamn day he'd been at college, was the memory of Dean's face when he'd told him that he was leaving.

Sam no longer remembered the words he had used, he didn't recall how he phrased it, or what spin he might have put on it, although he was sure Dean did.

No, all Sam could remember was the very end of their conversation.

_"You have to do what you have to do_." _Dean said icily_.

_Sam nodded, but was feeling less and less secure in his decision. _

_"I'm sorry..." he said for lack of anything substantial to redeem himself with._

_"I know." Dean's voice was so ambiguous that Sam couldn't even begin to decipher the emotions there. _

_What really hit though, was the look on his face. It was odd because Sam had seen the look many, many times before. _

_Whenever their dad gave him an order, or reprimanded him in the heat of the moment during a hunt. Whenever he played on Dean's natural instincts to be the protector, and accused him of failing._

_That was the face Dean had on. Only now, it was directed at his little brother._

Yet Sam still left.

Mere hours after his confrontation with Dean, Sam and his father had fought about the same subject. It was easier to want to leave his dad, he held much more anger towards the man, he hated him more than he could ever contemplate hating his big brother.

John Winchester had ended that fight by announcing that Sam was no longer a member of the Winchester family, and that he should leave the house immediately, before something bad happened.

Sam complied. He had wanted to dart into Dean's room, to say something, anything that might mend a little of the gigantic the gap he was creating. But he had been scared. Scared of his father, and scared of what Dean might say to him.

So he had left without really saying goodbye to his brother. He'd left, and they barely spoke for the next four years.

It was on occasions that he was reminded of his selfishness, that he hated himself.

On occasions where fear was present in Dean's eyes. Not fear that Sam was hurt or in danger, those were the fears that Sam secretly took comfort in.

It was when Dean looked at Sam like he was afraid Sam would leave him again. It was a vulnerability that Dean had every right to. One that Sam, and their father, had installed in him. The fear of abandonment.

He'd seen it in his eyes when he'd said goodbye to Lori, after they had saved her from the Hook Man. He'd seen it at the bus stop after they'd seen Emily off, when Dean had asked, as casually as he could muster, if he could drop Sam off anywhere. There were countless other occasions.

Dean would go to the ends of the earth to save his brother, but Sam didn't even have the decency to stick around half the time.

These were the occasions, where Sam really did hate himself.

"Your awake." Dean's voice was sudden, and lightly accusing.

Sam opened his eyes and focused on his brother. Thoughts from his half conscious brain still whirling around in his head.

"I'm sorry." He couldn't help saying.

"For what?"

"Leaving, I guess. Abandoning you, when all you do is constantly save my ass." Sam chuckled lightly. "I woke up feeling really guilty about it. I had the strangest dream ever. I dreamt that I was zoning in and out reality and in the place I kept waking up in, everything was really normal, you know? No monsters. No things that go bump in the night. It was everything that I ever wanted, and you just kind of left me there to live it."

"Sam..." Dean said slowly, more concern apparent.

Sam groaned out loud and shut his eyes tightly. Okay, so he'd been expecting that, but he couldn't help but try. He'd felt guilty for wanting to come back here. He felt like he was abandoning his brother, yet again, by wishing for this place.

"Yeah," he said, eyes open again, cutting off whatever this version of his brother was planning on saying. "I know. This is real. We're all normal. Jessica's outside with mom and dad, and we're all about to go on a family picnic."

Dean snorted his amusement. "Considering you can't manage to stay conscious for any solid amount of time, no, not so much. But I could sneak in some fried chicken and an apple pie, if that'd make you feel better."

It was at this point that Sam decided to sit up completely in the hospital bed he was, once again, confined to. Although not for long, as he shot his brother an annoyed look, he proceeded to lift himself up out of bed.

"Hey," Dean protested, sitting up straighter in his chair, immediately alarmed. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Going to the bathroom." Sam answered honestly. He didn't even want to try and calculate the time differences between the two worlds he was now a part of. He had no clue as to where he would even begin. The sciences and practicalities of time here vs. Time there, completely alluded him, but he knew he had to take a piss, and his bladder would not be denied.

His brother looked pensive and Sam sighed. "I'm crazy Dean, not an invalid."

"Your not crazy." He said immediately, in much the same way the real Dean had, except this one said it without anger or exasperation.

"No of course not." He said agreeably, with only a tinge of sarcasm noticeable in his voice. "But I am taking a piss now."

He made it to the bathroom with little trouble. While Dean kept a close eye on him, before Sam shut the bathroom door firmly behind him. He made no move to help him, which Sam found undeniably reliving. There was brotherly love, then there was just sick.

He reentered the room a few minutes later, but did not return to the bed. He had found a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt stored away in the tiny bathroom, and had gratefully put them on, not really wanting to sport a hospital gown any longer.

The thought of laying back down on that bed depressed him, so he moved to the other side of the room. Where the couch sat in front of the window.

"So where is everyone else?" Sam questioned, after a moment of gazing out at the night sky placidly, Dean's eyes burning a hole through the back of his head.

"It's one in the morning. Jessica's resting at my place, and mom and dad went home for the night." He could here the relief in Dean's voice, and it wasn't shocking. Out of all the conversations he could of breached, that was probably one of the easiest.

Sam still wasn't entirely sure about how he felt about his place, this...trap, really. That's what this place was. A trap.

A big fucking trap designed by someone who obviously knew him very well. Someone who wanted him to never leave the confines of his own mind ever again.

He knew that that's what was happening. That's what Dean, the real Dean, had told him. And Dean would never lie to him about something like that. Dean wouldn't lie to him at all.

Still, he found it very hard to think of this place as something bad, or even as something not real.

"You never leave?" Sam asked, ignoring his own internal questions.

"Someone's always here with you Sam. For the last two weeks. Just incase you woke up." Dean's voice was reassuring.

It was something that his Dean would think, but never say. Do, but never admit to. Gloss over with humor; his fear of serious conversations tainted almost everything the brothers had ever discussed.

"What happened here?" He couldn't help but be curious. "Why have I been in a coma for the last..."

"Two weeks, five days and fourteen hours." He filled in instantly.

_"Twenty two hours." Dean answered immediately._

Sam was assaulted with the random clip of memory from the other hospital. It was the same voice, same tone, same fear, apprehension, relief; everything.

Must be one fucking powerful curse.

"Sam?" Dean called lightly.

"Yeah," he said immediately. "keep going."

"You were caught up in a robbery." He told him, sounding almost impassive. Almost. Something very tangible was swimming just below the surface of his words, but Sam did not focus on it. "A bank robbery. The night Jessica was sick, you went to get take out, but you needed cash. The police said the ATM out side was busted. That's the only reason you were in the bank at all."

Dean swallowed a lump in his throat and Sam couldn't help but comment. "Shitty luck."

Dean nodded, and after a moment, kept going. "Two guys came in with guns and held the place up. It was seven o'clock on a Friday night. The whole bank was packed with people. A lot had little kids with them, you know? Banks are always like that on Fridays."

Sam immediately wanted to ask his brother, 'How would you know?' The words were on the tip of his tong even, before he remembered that in this this world, Dean probably _would _know what banks were like on Fridays.

He also probably didn't know how to make fake Police ID's, play poker expertly, pick locks and hot wire cars. Although the last few were debatable.

"You had to play hero." Dean said, shaking his head. His voice was a mixture of pride, anger and exasperation. "You tried to talk the gunmen down. And when that didn't work, you tackled one of them, you fought him for a while, and held your own pretty damn good. According to the people that were in there watching, anyway."

"Did everyone make it out alright?"

"Yeah. You were the only person who got hurt. One of the guys pistol whipped you, then they threw you across the floor, so hard that when your head hit the ground it cracked."

"Cracked?" Sam asked, not liking the word too much. Okay, so none of it actually happened in reality, and he was just humoring Dean, or so he kept telling himself.

But he'd still woken up with that painful little demonic thing attacking his skull. He'd still seen the giant bandage covering half of his head in the mirror in the bathroom, he could still felt it's soreness when he prodded at it gently.

"You fractured your skull, Sammy." Dean said quietly. "There was so much internal bleeding and swelling that the doctors didn't even think you were gonna live. When you got to the hospital that night, they couldn't identify you because those bastards took your wallet before bolting. Someone had managed to call the cops while you were fighting them."

"They didn't get away did they?" Fake world or not, Sam could just not tolerate the thought of that.

"Nope." Dean gave the closest thing to a grin that Sam had seen for the duration of his story. "The cops caught up with them a couple hours later at the state border. They put up a fight, and they ended up getting shot."

"Good." Sam said sincerely.

Dean nodded his agreement before continuing. "They both died, one immediately, one later at the hospital. Doctors said he suffered." Both men grinned wickedly.

"Then, before you passed out, you said my name. One of the nurses tracked me down, and, well, that's it. Me and Jess got here then called mom and dad, and you slept for two weeks." Dean sighed and leaned back in his chair once again.

Sam nodded. It was a good story, very believable. Too believable, really.

He shook his head at the thought, wondering if it even made sense.

Then again, how did any of this really make sense?

"Where are we?" He asked his brother. He wanted to hear more of the foundation behind this world's existence.

Dean blinked once before answering, "Kansas."

"You shitting me right?" Disbelief was his initial reaction, but it was gone almost as quickly as it came. Really, why should that be surprising?

"No. I'm not." Dean said simply. "You and Jessica were up here for Christmas break. You were staying at home since mom and dad were vacationing in Maui."

"Right." Sam agreed. "Second honeymoon. Jess told me." He paused again, "So where do I live? We." He corrected immediately. "Where do me and Jessica live?"

"California. Stanford. Master's degree. This ringing any bells?" Dean knew it wasn't. Knew that his kid brother had no recollection of his world, but treating the situation with humor was the only way he could think to deal with it.

Sam reflected that in this world, this was probably the weirdest thing Dean had ever been faced with. He couldn't jump in and try and to fix what was happening to his little brother like his Dean had done. Here, there was no way to fix mental breakdowns. There was no person to track down, nothing to kill, no location spell. And no abandonment in psychiatric facilities.

"I went to Stanford. I was studying to be a lawyer." He answered, trying his best to put Dean's mind at ease, without down right lying to him. "In the real world, my reality, whatever you want to call it."

"How bout we just call it Brazil?" He suggested with mock sincerity.

Sam promptly flicked him off. Although a part of him was secretly relieved that this Dean continued to joke so carelessly about the situation.

End Chapter.

A/N:

Okay, this was originally only the first half of Chapter Six, but since Chapter Six was way too long to post as one chapter,

it got chopped in half. That's why it ends so weird.

The next part will be arriving shortly.

#looks at end of chapter#

Like tomorrow, cause that really does end bad, dosen't it?

In the mean time, what do you think?

REVIEW PLEASE!


	7. Chapter 7

Title: Blackbird

Author: Oldach's Dream

Summary: Someone or Something is trying to trap Sam within his own mind. Alluring him with the promise of the normal life that he's always wanted. Will Dean be able to save his baby brother before he's gone forever?

Disclaimer: Supernatural defiantly isn't my creation.

00000000000000000

Chapter Seven (Which is really just Chapter 6 continued, but I refuse to call it that):

Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to tell this Dean a little about his world. If only to take note of the parallels between the two, so he could possibly begin to find a way out.

Perhaps there was a crack, or a gap, or something in the curse holding him here, something unstable he could use to help Dean break him free.

Or perhaps he just wanted to know more about the normal world he was being presented with the opportunity to take part in.

"I only went for four years though." He continued his earlier recollections. "Then..."

"Jessica died?" He guessed

"Yeah." Sam agreed quietly, he didn't like hearing the words out loud. In any reality. "Then me and you went back to hunting."

"While trying to find dad, who's off hunting the demon that killed mom and Jess. At least, that's what we were doing, now we're just hunting, just you and me. We more or less gave up on trying to find dad, right?" Dean asked curiously.

Sam just nodded and looked at Dean curiously.

"Jess let me read your manuscript." He said in way of explanation.

"Paranormal activity." Sam said, still trying to wrap his head around that one.

"Yeah," Dean nodded. "The doctor that evaluated you earlier was trying to explain what was happening to you because of it. Or how what's happening to you is tied to it."

Sam took a seat on the couch by the window, feeling suddenly dizzy. "And?" he prompted, ignoring Dean's concerned glaze, he was used to it by now.

"And, she said that memory loss isn't uncommon with major head injuries like the one you suffered." He sounded very much like he was actually quoting the doctor.

"This isn't memory loss exactly, though, is it?" Sam said irritably.

"I'm getting there." Dean said patiently. "She also said that head injuries can sometimes release long repressed memories. Only in your case, instead of finding old, real memories, your brain filled in what you couldn't remember, with something that you could."

"Huh?"

Dean sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Another trait both Dean's had. The way the room was set up had allowed them to face each other directly when Dean had turned his chair towards the couch Sam was now relaxed on. He could see perfectly how troubled his brother looked.

"I don't really remember the exact terminology she used." Dean admitted. "But basically, you've been writing this book since you started Stanford- thank you for never telling me about it, by the way." He added sarcastically.

Sam shrugged but said nothing, indicating that he wanted Dean to get back to his explanation. Humor could be saved for later.

Dean got the message. "The book's plot, it became sort of engrained in your thoughts. Kind of like a second reality, only less powerful, less real. It was a place you were making up, one you thought about constantly. So it got tied into your daily life, especially since you were basing the characters on us. Real people. But because they _weren't _really real, you didn't loose them when you got hurt. Like you lost everything else. And your brain just kind of...overcompensated."

"So I lost one set of memories and gained another?" Sam asked thoughtfully. Dean, his Dean, was right. That did kind of make sense.

"Basically." Dean nodded, relieved that he'd been successful in paraphrasing the doctor. "Dr. Malid said she's never heard of another case quite like it."

"There've been cases where people have lost their minds and made up different worlds. Detached themselves completely from reality." Sam told him, not really sure what he was trying to prove. "And I'm not talking about that movie. I mean actual medical cases."

"I know there have been, college boy." Dean said lightly, trying to calm Sam, as he had been speaking almost frantically. "But as far as Dr. Malid knows, there's never been one where the real world has been replaced with the plot of the novel that the injured person was writing."

"Seems a little unlikely." Sam sighed. "But it does make sense."

"You sound disappointed at that." Dean noted.

"Yeah, well. The more sense it makes, the harder it's gonna be to get out of here." Sam said. "The harder its gonna be for you to get me outta here."

Dean sighed. "Look, If you wanna keep acting like this isn't real Sam, that's fine, I'll humor you for as long as it takes you to get better." He paused. "But could you do me a favor, and not talk like that in front of mom or Jessica? Even dad, if you can help it."

Sam smirked, the similarities between the two were unmistakable. He always had to be the protector.

Sam didn't know what difference it really made anyway, whether he said it constantly or not, he knew it wasn't real. He knew that he was being set up. Of course knowing it and feeling it were two entirely different things.

But he didn't want to upset his mother or his girlfriend. This was very possibly the only time he'd ever get a chance like this. A chance to see and talk to the women he loved. He would not screw that up. For anything.

"Sure." He agreed. "I'll try not to mention it."

"Good." Dean nodded. "That's what the doctor suggested too, to help you stay here."

"Of course." Sam agreed lightly. "Because if you humor me, I'll never get better."

Dean shook his head and rolled his eyes. He could tell Sam was joking, or at least kind of joking. Playing off the serious situation as unimportant.

Again he asked himself, what difference did it really make? He could strip off all his clothes and go streaking through the streets, singing jingle bells at the top of his lungs, and no one in the real world would ever find out about it. He could do anything he wanted and it wouldn't really be happening. He was, after all, simply inside his own head. In the real world he was laying in a hospital bed, probably drooling like a vegetable.

He wondered briefly about death. If he died in this fake reality, would he die in his own world? He decided it wasn't something he wanted to test, and quickly let the question go.

"Hey Sammy?" Dean asked tensely after a few moments.

"Yeah?"

"In your world," Sam could tell he was being serious, and that it had been difficult for him to say that. "I'm trying to save you, right?"

Now that was somewhat of an odd question, Sam looked thoughtfully at his brother. It sounded almost as if Dean was scared of the answer he may receive. His eyes were darting from the tiled floor to Sam's forehead, refusing to meet his eyes.

"Uh, yeah." He answered after a moment. "You, well, you went off to find the thing causing this." He decided not to mention that it was most likely a human he was hunting. In his own reality, Sam had had a hard time accepting that. He didn't want to see this Dean's reaction to it.

"Just me?" He asked. "Where are you?"

"A mental hospital." Sam answered honestly. Despite knowing that none of this was real, he felt very reluctant in divulging that information.

Dean's face scrunched in confusion. "I just left you somewhere and went off by myself?" Sam shrugged, now it was him who wouldn't meet his brother's gaze. "I wouldn't do that Sammy."

"You didn't have a choice." Sam was defending Dean's actions to Dean. He wanted to roll his eyes at the humor of it, but found that the humor of the situation was lacking. By defending his brother to this Dean, he felt like he was trying to convince himself, that his own doubts were unfounded.

"You didn't abandon me," Sam went on. "It wouldn't of been safe for me to go with you."

He decided to leave out the part about the crazy doctor. It seemed irrelevant here. So the doctor on duty was a mean, sadistic bastard? So what? Dean hadn't known that when he dropped Sam off there. When he dumped him there like he was a hindrance.

"I mean, Its not like I could risk hunting while I'm passing out every three seconds." He was getting angry, his voice steadily rising with each thing he said. "Dean did the only thing he could do. I would of done the same thing. There wasn't another option!"

"Okay Sammy." This Dean said agreeably. Both brothers were left with the feeling that Sam had been yelling more at himself than he had at him. "I'm sure he... I...we... were doing the right thing."

"Pronouns suck don't they?" Sam asked, his shallow breathing returning to normal.

Dean smirked, "In this situation, I think everything kind of sucks."

"True." Sam agreed. "I have, what? Three different doctors? Two brothers. A girlfriend and a mom who aren't dead anymore? Two dads? Two different childhoods to pick from, one I don't even know about yet. Two different college majors, two jobs..." he trailed off. "God, if I'm not already insane, I think this might be the breaking point."

"You said yet." Dean smiled genuinely.

"What?" Sam asked, confused. He had been expecting his brother to say something along the lines of 'You're not crazy' or 'Do you want me to go get the doctor so she can give you some more drugs?'

"Yet." He repeated, and Sam realized he was quoting him. "Does that mean you're gonna be sticking around long enough for us to fill you in on your past here? On Your real life."

"Depends, I don't watch Oprah here do I?" Sam asked it to lighten the mood, and because he was finding, that when faced with uncomfortable situations here, he acted a lot like his other brother.

"You hate daytime TV." Dean informed sincerely.

"So do you." He couldn't help but recall Dean's cracks about it the last time he'd been in a hospital. When he was dying.

"Yeah." He agreed, but was still looking at him like he expected an answer.

"I don't know Dean. I don't think, I mean, I don't know if I can choose when I come here." He felt oddly disappointed at the thought of leaving here again. Of course he kept telling himself that that was because all that was waiting for him in the other world was a tiny, starch white room and a nutty doctor.

"Dr. Malid has a theory on that too." he said immediately.

"Of course she does." Sam really couldn't complain about the doctor's interest in him, given the circumstances.

He had spent only a short time with her here, but she was by far his favorite doctor. No sinus issues, no insanity problems. Yup. Dr. Malid was the best doctor Sam had had in years.

"She thinks that the more attached you get to this world, the more likely you are to stick around."

"Oh, come on!" Sam exclaimed.

"What?" Dean asked, generally confused.

"Don't you think that that's exactly what, whoever's setting me up, would want?" He asked, not caring ridiculous he sounded to this Dean. "Come, enjoy you're new normal life. While I kill you slowly. And while I'm at it, I'll kill your brother too."

"Sam." Dean said with a small, half smile. "No one's gonna kill me. I'm right here. And so are you. That's not going to change anytime soon. Unless you leave us again."

Sam sighed. Why did this have to be so hard? It shouldn't be this difficult to decide whether or not he wanted to go back to his brother, back to fighting evil.

But it was.

It was, because he was trapped inside his own subconscious. And in his mind, he did feel as if Dean abandoned him by leaving him in the care of Dr. Kabala. And he also felt as if he deserved that. After all the times he had abandoned Dean, he really couldn't blame the man for wanting to leave him behind.

Yet he also knew, or thought, hoped, he knew, that his real brother wasn't really abandoning him. Even if he did deserve it, all Dean was doing, was trying to help him. Cure him.

No; kill the thing causing this. This wasn't something coming from inside Sam himself. It didn't need a cure, it needed a kill.

"Sammy?" Dean asked softly. "Are you okay?"

"I don't know Dean." He answered honestly.

"Why don't you go back to sleep. You're still hurt, I shouldn't of bombarded you with all this stuff right now." He sounded self-deprecating. "You're supposed to be taking it easy."

"It's alright." Sam assured him. "I wanted to know. But I do think I'll go back to sleep. All this reality jumping can really take a toll on a guy."

Dean smiled. "At least that hasn't changed."

Sam gave him an odd look as he stood up.

"You've always had a tendency to get sarcastic when you don't know what else to do." Dean told him.

"Yeah, well," Sam stretched lightly, enjoying the feel of expanding his mussels. "You have a tendency to be a sarcastic smart-ass all the time."

"That I do." Dean agreed easily. "We get that from mom."

Sam stopped stretching and looked at his brother. Perhaps they did. John Winchester had been all work, no jokes, while the boys had been growing up. He never before considered where they had picked up their respective humor traits.

Sam shook his head to stop himself from thinking about it further. Even if it were true, it would change nothing.

He crossed the small room and crawled into bed. He'd never admit it, but it felt good to be lying down. This curse was great at making him feel things, specifically the aftermath of his coma, very realistically.

Sam reached down to pull up the blanket, but found that Dean, who had stood up at some point, was doing it for him.

He wanted to scowl at his brother's babying, but found that he was actually quite touched. The gesture reminded him briefly of their childhood years. When Dean would tuck Sam in, as most children were tucked in by a mother or father.

"Night Sammy." He said softly.

Sam felt his eyelids dropping, and by the time Dean had turned the light off and was back in his chair next to Sam's bed, he found that he had no energy to contemplate anymore possible differences between the worlds.

He knew only, that his big brother was a few feet away, and that he was safe.

"Good night Dean." He whispered. Then, even softer, "I'll see you in the morning."

00000000000000000000000000

Sam woke slowly.

His back screamed in pain when he tried to uncurl himself. He realized immediately that it was the result of sleeping in the fetal position.

His eyes cracked slowly and he was assaulted by white. Confining, stifling, white walls.

He was back at Grandville. Back within the immediate vicinity of Dr. Kabala. The thought of the insane doctor was much more frightening here.

Sam lifted his head only enough to scan the tiny room. His bags were nowhere in sight. Meaning his cell phone, and any means he might have had of contacting Dean weren't there.

He closed his eyes again. Tears sprung in them. Ones he could not fight away.

He did not want to be here. He felt trapped. So utterly and completely depressed at the thought of staying here, that depressed did not seem strong enough of a word.

He had never been the claustrophobic type, but he could have sworn he felt the walls closing in around him.

He shut his eyes tightly.

_I want to go back. I want to go back. I want to go back._

He no longer felt guilty for thinking that. He knew if he didn't get back to the other world, he really would go insane.

So he pulled a pillow over his head tightly, if only to keep away the silence. Repeating to himself, over and over, out loud now, his throat scratchy and his voice choked with tears.

"I want to go back. I want to go back. I _have _to go back"

Until sleep finally rescued him once again.

End Chapter.

Review Please!


	8. Chapter 8

Title: Blackbird

Author: Oldach's Dream

Summary: Someone or Something is trying to trap Sam within his own mind. Alluring him with the promise of the normal life that he's always wanted. Will Dean be able to save his baby brother before he's gone forever?

Disclaimer: Supernatural defiantly isn't my creation.

Rating: M

00000000000000000000

Chapter Eight:

It had been three days.

Three days since he'd woken up in Grandville's psychiatric hospital, and pleaded with whatever higher being may exist, to send him back here. It'd been three days in this reality anyway, he still hadn't figured out how time worked here in comparison to in the real world.

Nor did he care to. All that mattered to him, was that he was now with his family. He had his brother, his girlfriend, and his parents. And he had them all at the same time; he was, for the first time in a long while, truly happy.

He had figured that as long as he kept himself sane, as long as he stayed aware of the fact that this place didn't really exist, as long as he reminded himself constantly that he was swimming around the depths of his own disturbed mind, and that none of this was really happening. Well, then everything would be okay.

All he had to do was wait for his Dean, the real Dean, to go to Denver, find whoever was doing this, kill 'em painfully, and come back to rescue him from the evil clutches of Dr. Kabala.

He'd decided to use his entrapment in this place as vacation time, a priceless resort, an extended dream, a daydream, maybe. Anything really; as long as he didn't start to think of it as his primary world, then he would be safe.

As long as he could keep the two separated, and that shouldn't be too difficult.

Right?

"Good news!" Jessica practically bounded in the room and over to the bed where Sam and Dean had been playing a hand of poker. She grabbed Sam's neck and kissed him hard. "You're getting out today." She smiled widely when they broke apart.

"What's that?" Dean teased. "I couldn't hear you. Your lips were too fused with my brother's."

"Can it." Jess shot him an annoyed look and Sam thought absently that Dean and Jess got along quite well in this place. It was a cute added bonus.

"Today?" Sam asked, slightly taken aback. "Like, now today?"

"No, like tomorrow today." Dean said sarcastically and shook his head in mock sadness. "Dude, I thought you were the one going to college."

"Be quiet." Jess pleaded, even more exasperated. "Sam's going home today, can't you just be happy?"

"Depends," Dean said honestly. "Which home are you guys gonna be staying at?"

"We can't exactly go back to California." Jessica said as if that much should have been obvious. Honestly, Sam had been asking himself the same question. "We're going to be staying with your parents for a while." She directed it at both the brothers. "Until Dr. Malid says your well enough to travel or, you know, we _could_ move back here."

"You could?"

"We could?"

The Winchester boys spoke in unison, ignoring the eye roll Jess shot their way.

"I don't know." She shrugged. "Sam, honey, your not gonna be able to go back to school for a while. Or do anything really, until you get your memory back. Wouldn't you rather stay with your family?"

Sam had realized that he had much stronger family ties here than he had in the other world. The real world, he admonished himself immediately.

This is not real. This is not real. This is not real.

He took a deep breath.

"Yeah, of course I want to stay here." He spoke easily, reaching over and smacking Dean's shoulder lightly. "This lug head owes me thirty bucks anyway."

Dean shook his head in embarrassment. "I used to be able to always beat your ass, what happened?"

Ah, in the real world, winning poker games is our only form of steady income?

In the real world I _can't _actually beat you, and my Dean's better at poker than you?

Sam just shrugged. He had, after all, promised not to speak of his reality while in the presence of his girlfriend.

"Good." Jess intercepted the conversation. "Sam, Dr. Malid is going to come in and check you out one last time. She said she'd be here soon. After that, we can go home."

She leaned over once again placed a fleeting kiss on his lips. God how he had missed that.

He had considered perhaps, that indulging in the pleasures of this mind game would prove to be disastrous later. But he had decided that if he was going to view this whole situation as a morbid vacation of some sort, then he was going to damn well enjoy it.

Her hand lingered on his chest when she spoke again. "I'm gonna go back and finish unpacking some more of our stuff in the guest room, I'll be back before they let you out."

"I say we ditch her and hit a strip club." Dean had obviously been feeling a bit left out.

"Do and die." Jess said easily and both men laughed.

Jessica had always possessed a certain grace around people. It was one of the first things Sam had noticed about her. She wasn't afraid to say what she wanted, but she was tactful and...Stunning. He remembered, _stunning_ had been the first adjective his brain had come up with for her.

Oddly, he knew that was true, in both realities. But here, he recalled it much more clearly. He was a writer here, he remembered, maybe he was supposed to recall these things.

He marveled again at the curse's power.

Dean simply smirked at his brother's girlfriend, as she headed out the door once again. Jessica still possessed the same passion for life that Sam remembered too. The same drive and determination. The same care-free spirit.

"God I love her." Sam couldn't help but say it out loud. It was something he never got to discuss with his own brother.

"Oh yeah," Dean nodded knowingly. "That much is obvious. Been obvious for a long time. Since the first time I say you too together, actually. Then again," Dean smirked. "Sorry, I forgot you can't remember that, you usually would of punched me or something by now."

"Why's that?" Sam asked, almost afraid of the answer. Slowly but surely, Dean had been filling him in on his life here.

The rest of his family had been a little as well, but Dean was the only one who could tell the stories without sounding uncomfortable. The only one who could recall events, events that should of been common knowledge, and tell them to Sam without cringing and looking away.

So far, Sam had to admit, he could see no chinks in this curse's armor. He could detect no glitch; this world was seemingly flawless. That scared Sam a little.

"The first time I saw Jessica," Dean explained, "She was naked and you were on top of her." He smirked when Sam's eyes widened.

"You caught us having sex!"

"You learned how to lock your door after that night, that's for sure."

"You know, I really wish you just hadn't told me that one." Sam cringed at a few of his own recollections, staring his brother and some random girl caught in the act. Wrong place, wrong time, and Sam had been scarred for life, on several occasions.

Here he was, getting payback, and Dean would never even know.

Dean chucked a pillow at him, "Come on Sammy, that was one of the fun ones."

Sam snorted. "For you maybe."

Dean just laughed. Sam realized that in all the time he'd been here, he hadn't once stopped this Dean from calling him Sammy. Something he usually always did, with the real Dean, when the situation wasn't intense or life threatening in some way.

He wondered about the reasoning behind that, but doubted it was a question this Dean could really answer. It was probably more of a psychological thing tied to the events of late. That, or his own constant uncertainty about how to behave here.

Perhaps, if this world _was_ real, he wouldn't mind Dean calling him Sammy as much as he did in actuality. It was impossible to tell, since this world _didn't _really exist.

"Mom stopped by yesterday while you were sleeping." Dean informed him casually, as they went back to their game.

"Oh, yeah?" Sam attempted the same casualness, but couldn't quite pull it off.

"Yeah. Actually," he chuckled and shook his head slightly. "She was saying how dad's been bragging to all the guy's at work, talking about how his son's a hero."

"I'm not." Sam insisted.

"Yeah, he was saying how modest you were too." Dean smirked and dealt the cards between them, ignoring the lumps caused by the bunched up hospital blankets.

"I just did what you would of done." Sam pointed out.

Dean worshiped their dad here, in much the same way his Dean did. He always listened to him, and followed his orders. Sam had been much closer to his mom growing up.

Mary had refereed many a fight between the Winchester men.

In this place, John Winchester owned a construction company. Winchester Construction. Other than the lack of an original title, it was one of the most successful construction companies in all of Kansas.

They did everything from common household chores, to actually building houses. John Winchester, it seemed, was an incredibly driven man in every world Sam had ever been a part of.

John had grown used to the idea that his two sons would someday take over the business, and would work for him up until that time.

Dean had followed the plan to a tee. He'd spent two years at a vocational college, getting a small business degree, and then promptly declared that he hated formalized education with a passion.

They had expected Sam to do the same, but Sam had wanted to go to a real college. He wanted to get away from his home town of Lawrence, Kansas. He wanted to do something more than his father and brother. When he'd gotten into Stanford, only Mary had supported his decision to go.

The lines between the two worlds were remarkably easy to follow. Winchester Construction was this curse's, or his mind's, way of interpreting his family's real business. The parallels were the same. Everything was the same. Except his mom.

Mary Winchester was the only reason this John didn't get as angry at his son, as he had in the real world. Her level head and rationality had saved them the drama of a family falling-out. Something for which Sam was forever grateful.

Only he didn't have to be. Because this _isn't real._

"Good point." Dean smirked and traded a few of his cards, Sam had to shake his head to remind himself what he was talking about. "Only I woulda killed the bitches myself."

Yeah, this wasn't real.

"Are you scared of airplanes?" Sam's question was seemingly random, but he needed to know how similar the Dean's really were. It hadn't come up verbally before now. They had been focusing more on Sam and his life.

"Uh…yeah." He titled his head slightly, but answered without complaint. He seemed to understand what his brother was doing. "Ever since we were kids and went on that vacation to Disney World." Dean shivered slightly. "There was so much turbulence that those breathing mask things dropped. Scared the fuck outta me. Granted I was six."

"Right." Sam nodded. Of course there had to be a perfectly realistic, normal back-story.

"Favorite band?" He asked guardedly.

"Metallica, AC/DC, Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath. Pick one." He chuckled, throwing a card down, and gesturing that it was Sam's turn.

"And let me guess, you drive a 1967 Impala." It didn't need to be in the form of a question.

"Wow." Dean said evenly. "I guess I have good taste in your book too."

"I thought you read it." Sam recalled his brother saying something to that extent.

"I skimmed it." He shrugged. "I read the parts about you and your world. The rest I just kinda…"

"Wanted cliff notes for?" Sam guessed. His brother had never been the reading type. Unless it was absolutely required, or an article accompanying some picture in a lewd magazine.

"A little." He looked sheepish. "In my defense, you haven't edited it yet. So, It was kinda like reading 300 pages of foot notes, with occasional dialogue."

Sam punched his brother lightly. "Like you could do better."

"No, I have a real job." He lifted up his arm and flexed his mussels, as if demonstrating. "Ya pussy."

"Bitch." Sam retaliated, shaking his head, smirking slightly.

"How long before I can kick your ass again?" Dean asked in mock seriousness. "You woke up way too cocky."

"I'm afraid it'll be a while." Dr. Malid announced from the doorway with an amused look on her face. She had obviously heard at least some of the brother's bickering.

"How longs a while?" Dean asked, sitting up slightly straighter.

She made her way fully into the room and stood at the foot of the bed. Both Winchester's, who had been sitting crossed legged, facing each other for their game, turned now to face her.

"Sam, I'm releasing you today. You haven't blacked out in approximately 65 hours. Very impressive, considering how often you were fading in and out when you first woke up."

"Yeah, well." Sam snorted. "There's not much to go back for at the moment."

"That's good." She said, looking honestly pleased. "That's your mind's way of telling you that you don't really belong there."

_This isn't real. This isn't real. This isn't real._

Sam simply nodded. "Yeah, maybe." He humored her.

"Your physical wounds are progressing nicely as well. You're no longer suffering from any internal swelling. Your headaches are fading." She let out a deep breath. "For everything you suffered Sam, you're doing remarkable. It's a miracle if I've ever seen one, that's for sure."

"Hear that, Sammy?" Dean smiled genuinely. "You're a miracle."

"He is indeed." The doctor agreed and Sam felt his cheeks burning, he shrugged slightly.

This wasn't a miracle. It was curse.

He looked at Dean's shining eyes and the doctor's almost proud expression. He thought of kissing Jessica earlier and his mother's hug. The things he'd experienced here that he thought he never would in reality, or never would again.

It didn't feel so much like a curse anymore.

* * *

Hours later found Jessica and Sam standing in the center of the guest room, clinging to each other, although not desperately. She was wrapped up in his arms, her head resting comfortably right above his heart, and Sam had been torn between wanting to cry, clinging to her forever, and wanting to push her away, knowing eventually this would end. 

Before he had made up his mind to stop thinking. This was Jessica. Secure in his arms, as he thought she never would be again.

"I love you." She mumbled against his chest. "Always and forever."

"I love you." Sam echoed.

They stayed like that for what seemed an eternity. Sam had initiated the hug, unable to resist himself when she had come out of the bathroom dressed for bed. She was clad in the same Smurfs T-shirt that she had been the last time Sam had seen her alive. Before he'd left her to go looking for his dad with his brother.

The reminder had been too brutal, almost knocking him over with it's force. Sam had felt the need to hold her, touch her, like he'd been afraid to do when this world first presented itself to him. So he held her tightly, as his mind drifted to the events of the earlier evening.

The hours pervious had been filled so much with his family that Sam had found it difficult to focus on one thing specifically. So he had stopped trying, and had simply enjoyed the gigantic meal they had eaten together. The feelings of security and love that washed over him

His entire family, everyone who had ever meant anything to him, every single person that Sam had ever loved, was sitting at the same table with him. Joking around, telling stories, asking him to pass the rolls and gravy. As if it was such a common occurrence.

No one else felt the surreal ness that Sam had. For them, this _was _normal. And it was all Sam had ever wanted.

Which is why he knew it wasn't really happening.

"Are you okay?" Jess's soft voice broke though his remembrances.

"Yeah," he assured. "Just thinking."

"About what?" She questioned. He felt her grab a fistful of the back of his T-shirt, something she had always done subconsciously, when she wanted to be protected.

Sam held her even tighter. "You." He spoke softly and placed a soft kiss in the top of her head. "Always you."

"I was so worried about you." She sounded close to tears. Up until tonight, Jessica had kept up an incredibly brave front, not letting any of her true emotions shine through.

"I know." Sam soothed. "It's okay. I'm here now; I'm always here for you."

"Promise?" And Sam could hear the tears in her voice.

"I'll love you forever." Sam couldn't bring himself to straight-out lie to her. He never had. He'd omitted a lot of things from his childhood, but he had never actually told her something that wasn't true.

It didn't make him feel any less guilty, but it was all he had.

"God Sam." She spoke at a slightly more level tine. "I missed you so much."

Sam spoke the next words without thinking. "It's good to be home."

Sam felt a fleeting surge of anger course through himself.

_This isn't real. This..._

Jessica let out a contented sigh, before pulling away from Sam slightly. "You ready to go to bed? It's been a long day."

"Yeah." He answered and smiled down at her. Before following her to the Queen Size bed. They got in on their respective sides. Sam on the right, Jessica on the left. Something else that transferred realities.

_This isn't re..._

Jessica scooted over immediately and curled herself around him, her body molding into his perfectly.

_This is..._

"Always and forever." She mumbled, already half asleep.

Sam closed his eyes as well.

He never bothered trying to finish the thought.

End chapter.

A/N:

Okay, I appreciate all the reviews I've been getting. And I love that you're all still following the story, even though it's slightly...odd. I encourage you to continue to tell me what you think.

On a different note, there seems to be a bit of confusion about the story itself, and the worlds Sam is a part of.

There are TWO worlds. To put it simply: the one with Dr. Kabala (Which was previously Dr. Arnold - or 'congested guy.' Meaning he switched hospitals - not worlds.)

And the one with Dr. Malid. Where Jessica and Mary are alive.

Two worlds, Two Deans, Two Johns; but only one Sam. Sam is still Sam. He's just in, part of,Two realities.

I wanted to sort out the confusion now, because, hang onto your hats, it's about to get worse. That is to say, more confusing.

If there's still something that's hard to understand, just tell me in a review, and I'll answer as best I can.

00000000000000000000000


	9. Chapter 9

Title: Blackbird

Author: Oldach's Dream

Summary: Someone or Something is trying to trap Sam within his own mind. Alluring him with the promise of the normal life that he's always wanted. Will Dean be able to save his baby brother before he's gone forever?

Disclaimer: Supernatural defiantly isn't my creation.

Rating: M

0000000000000000000000

Chapter Nine

Sam made his way down the stairs quietly. It was the middle of the night and he had woken with the oddest taste in his mouth. So he'd crawled out of bed, intent on not waking Jessica. His destination was the refrigerator. He was forever convinced that if he drank water from the tap in the middle of the night, something evil would come out of it and get him.

He had no idea where that insane fear had come from, but he'd had it since he was a child, and didn't even bother trying to understand it anymore. He just always made sure there was a bottle of water present in the fridge.

He turned the corner to the kitchen, ready to pat himself on the back for remembering where all the creaks in the floorboards were, but stopped dead in his tracks.

"Dean." He exclaimed in an angry whisper. He could barely make out his brother's figure in the moonlight streaming through the kitchen window, and he was not making a sound. "You trying to give me a freaking heart attack?" Sam shivered slightly when he said the words.

His brother didn't reply, he just continued to stand there, still as a statue.

"Dean?" Sam questioned, his voice holding less anger and more apprehension now. Perhaps this was just some brotherly joke that existed only in this world. If you here someone coming late at night and your already up, pretend to be sleep walking or something.

"Okay Dean," He tried to say lightly. "I don't get the joke. Time to fill in the guy with brain damage."

Dean still didn't move. "Ah...alright then. I'm gonna turn on the light now."

Sam took a few steps to the right, not taking his eyes off his brother's silhouetted figure as he did so. His hand hesitated briefly at the light switch. He felt his stomach drop slightly and a nervous feeling consume him. Something wasn't right.

His hand moved in one fluid motion, light dawned over the kitchen and Sam's eyes went wide in shock.

Dean was still standing before him, but now that he could see his brother clearly, Sam couldn't even begin to guess what was going on.

Dean's face was a mess of black and blues, his right eye was swollen considerably. His ever present brown leather coat was torn and bloodstained. His hair was a mess, his jeans looked as bad as his jacket, but nothing beneath the leather could be seen.

His eyes were dead. The melted chocolate orbs that Sam knew as well as his own, might as well of been that of a corpse. He knew also, instantly, that this was his Dean. The real Dean. Or someone impersonating the real Dean. Simply put, Alternate reality Dean had no place here.

Sam's arm fell limply to his side.

"What...what happened?" He knew before he even opened his mouth that the question was pointless, but he had to try. He didn't know what else to do.

"They're coming for you." He spoke in a monotone voice that made Sam recoil. "They eat your soul and rip out your heart. You'll see it beating before you fall over dead."

"Dean..."

In an instant, Dean's face changed, it went from expressionlessly dead, to pleading. He looked at Sam with fear and desperation displayed clearly.

"Help me Sammy." He begged and Sam could see tears pooling in his eyes, and pain gathering in his gaze. "You have to help me. I can't do it by myself this time."

"I don't know how Dean, what do you want me to do?" Sam's voice was pleading as well, but he knew already that his brother wouldn't answer.

"You can't hide." He changed again, from pathetic to dangerous. He was moving towards Sam now. They weren't normal movements either; they were jerky and demonic, like those of Bloody Mary and the Woman in White.

"Your pathetic." He growled. "You can't run. You can't hide, they're all waiting, all inside."

He said the last words with a musical air. It sounded vaguely familiar, but Sam couldn't place it right away, he was too preoccupied, backing away from his brother. Or whatever this thing was. Trying to make himself as flat as possible against the kitchen wall. He could not tear his eyes away from Dean's face.

His brother's form was smirking slightly now, in a way that his big brother, either version of him, never had before. It was pure evil.

A trickle of blood made its way down the side of his chin, from one of the open wounds there. The thing reached a finger up and wiped it away, moving the digit to his mouth, where he sucked on it for a moment. Before letting it go with a pop and a satisfied look.

He was mere inches away from Sam when he sang it again. "You can't run. You can't hide. They're all waiting. All inside."

His voice was still low, but Sam recognized the Freddie Krueger theme now. At least, that's what it sounded like to him. The words were sung in that same, slowed down children's tune, way.

"You -can't- run. You- can't- hide. I'll be wait-ing. We're in-side."

Dean was now directly level with his brother's eyes. Meaning either Sam was slouching slightly against the wall he had pressed himself against, or this thing could cast allusions or make himself taller.

Sam felt fear travel to every single one of his nerve endings. But he didn't let himself think about it, or anything else, too much. Over contemplation was always bad during hunts. Sam had to stay focused.

It didn't seem to want to kill him, or even hurt him, just scare him. He was reminded of the ghosts at Roosevelt Asylum.

"What do you want?" He managed to say it at a level, unafraid tone.

"I want to eat your heart, Sammy." His eyes flashed completely black, for only a second. Then changed to pleading, deep brown again. "Help me Sammy. I need your help."

His eyes were back to black and Sam felt an extreme pressure on his chest. He took a deep breath trying to steady himself, but the feeling of pressure would not go away. He couldn't stop himself from clutching at his heart.

"What are you doing?" He rasped, managing to sound angry, confused and betrayed in those four words. Before falling to his knees.

He recalled the Woman in White, in the Impala, trying to pull his heart out with her ghostly hand. What he was experiencing now was so horrifically worse, that the comparison didn't even begin to do it justice.

Only the demonic version of Dean wasn't doing it. Not that Sam could see anyway. He was standing over him, smirking wickedly, but there was no indication that he was inflicting the torturous feelings of flesh being ripped open within his chest.

Sam lost sight of his form altogether though, when a fresh round of pain started. His head fell down and he gasped for air.

What in the hell was going on?

Another wave hit and he had to drop one of his arms from his chest, to the ground, so he wouldn't fall over entirely. Until the pain struck again and his arm gave out, leaving him on his side, curled up on the cold linoleum floor.

"...you can't run...you can't hide...we're all waiting...all inside..."

"You're not real. You're not my brother and I'm going to kill you." Sam managed to rasp and when the thing chuckled demonically, Sam really couldn't blame it. He was curled up in pain, trying desperately to catch his breath enough so as not to suffocate, and he was attempting to dish out threats.

"It'll be okay Sam," The voice was a little different now; Sam couldn't put his finger on how. "Just relax. I promise it will all be over soon."

There. That voice. He knew it.

Dean's demonic voice was now layered up with another one. Both were saying the same things, but Sam could tell it was no longer coming from the demon.

"I'll make you better Sam. You'll be happier like his." It was less Dean now, and more of the other one. The other one... "Death isn't the end."

Finally he placed it. As soon as he thought it, the whole world changed.

He was back on a hospital bed. Only now he was laying flat on his back, the ceiling was coming into focus slowly.

Dr. Kabala kept speaking to him, all traces of demonic Dean gone. "You'll be helping so many people Sam, Don't you think your brother would be proud?"

"What..." he rasped. He swallowed thickly but then went on, ignoring his dry throat. "The fuck 'ou doing?"

"Awake I see." He said as cheerfully as his eerie voice could manage. "It's a shame. You've been trapped in your own little place for so long, I thought maybe this would be easy..." he trailed off and shook his head. "Oh well, I guess you'll just take more time than I anticipated."

Sam tried to lift his arm, he wasn't sure what he wanted to do. But found out immediately that it didn't matter anyway. He could not move the limb.

He tried the other, and found the same problem existed. His heart rate quickened as panic began to set in. He pulled at his limbs as hard as he could; jerking pathetically, but nothing moved more than a few inches.

"I strapped you down Sam." The doctor said in the scratchy voice that might as well of been demonic. It was certainly one of the evilest things he had ever heard. "You were becoming a danger to yourself. What with all that thrashing about." He clucked his tongue disapprovingly.

"Sick fucker." Sam spit at him, but Dr. Kabala just laughed good naturedly and moved his hand to Sam's bed side table.

He extracted a long, dangerous looking, syringe from the depths of the drawer. "It seems your medications have a negative affect on you when you're trying to wake up." He said it like he was stating an interesting side note. "I bet that hurt, didn't it? Did you hallucinate anything?" He asked it almost eagerly.

Then chuckled heartily, answering himself. "I guess that's a silly question. As your whole world's a hallucination, isn't it?" He tapped the needle against his fingers professionally, grinning as some liquid shot out of the end of it. "I don't know what did this to you Mr. Winchester, but if I ever get the chance, I'll be sure to thank it. Your condition's proved invaluably helpful in my business. Maybe if your brother ever returns I'll get him to tell me."

"Stay away from Dean." Sam managed to grind out between clenched teeth. "Or I swear to God I'll fuckin' kill you."

"That's cute. Your defensive little brother thing." Dr. Kabala's smile turned patronizing. "But I have to tell you, you aren't very threatening."

Sam opened his mouth to protest, argue, to do anything that would make him fell any less pathetically weak than he did right now.

Dr. Kabala cut him off before he got the chance. "I don't want to hear it Sam."

With that, he forcefully shoved the needle in his arm. Sam guessed it hit a vain, for he could not hold back the cry of pain that was ripped from his throat.

"Bye-bye Sam." Dr. Kabala's words sounded above the ringing in his ears, his vision became tunnel-like and he could tell the darkness would be consuming him shortly.

The world was spinning, his arm was throbbing, and the doctor was now humming to himself lightly. Sam wanted so desperately to move, to save himself and kill this fucker, to figure out what in the hell was going on, to get to his brother...

All trains of thoughts stopped as Sam blacked out.

End Chapter.

000000000000000000

A/N: Well, ah...

Betcha wanna review this one, huh?


	10. Chapter 10

Title: Blackbird

Author: Oldach's Dream

Summary: Someone or Something is trying to trap Sam within his own mind. Alluring him with the promise of the normal life that he's always wanted. Will Dean be able to save his baby brother before he's gone forever?

Disclaimer: Supernatural defiantly isn't my creation. I do however, claim Dr. Kabala (and any other original character that might pop out of my head and into this plot.)

Rating: M

A/N: Well, I've more or less reached the point where I haven't actually written any of this yet. So chapters may take a bit longer from now on.

You've all been very insistent on finding out what's happening with Dean. This chapter answers that, and quite a few other major questions about what's really going on.

There's also a little bit of violence...okay, maybe more than a little...in this chapter. It's really not _that _bad. Nothing worse than we'd see in the show, but you've been warned, either way.

Oh, and, yeah I know I'm babbling, but I want it to be known that I haven't read a single spoiler for the newest episode. I don't know anything about it, other than the brief trailer we got after last week's episode. And my goal is to have the majority of this posted before the new episode airs (that's in another week, right?) So I don't accidentally steal their plot...whatever it may be.

* * *

Chapter Ten:

Dean's body, as a whole, ached something awful, but when he lifted his head to take stock of his surroundings, he actually groaned out loud.

"Getting whacked in the back of the head hurts," he mumbled to himself stupidly. "Go fuckin' figure."

He was surrounded by darkness. He could make out only the blurry outlines of objects in his direct line of vision. And it was only when he attempted to move his aching, throbbing limbs, that he became fully aware of how trapped he was.

He was in an upright, standing position. Yet his arms were chained above his head. His wrists throbbed when he pulled at them. A quick glance down at his body told him that the biting chill he was feeling wasn't an external manifestation of his fear; it was the result of the shirt he wasn't wearing.

He felt the trickles of blood make their way down his chest, and would have examined them further, had his hunter-honed instincts not picked up on the fact that he was no longer alone.

"Dean Winchester." The eerie female voice spoke his name, but he couldn't see anyone.

"That's me." He answered, wishing desperately that his eyes would adjust to this total darkness and allow him some insight as to what was going on. "How drunk was I last night? 'Cause I sure as hell don't remember agreeing to play this kinky game."

"This isn't a game." She spoke just as calmly as she had before.

"Yeah I know," he said in a mocking tone, still pulling slightly on his restraints. "That was kinda my way of saying; who the hell are you? And what the fuck is going on?"

"Sam told me you were sarcastic."

"Sammy?" Dean's interest was instantly peaked. "What the hell are you doing to my brother?"

She ignored his angry question and took a few steps closer to where he was hanging helplessly. An action he more felt than saw, as his eyes were still not accustomed to the dark.

"He said you could be a jerk. Controlling. Too…what was it? Willing to follow orders." She laughed a little. "Always ready to do what daddy tells you."

"One more time," he spoke with clenched teeth. "What the fuck are you doing to my brother?"

"I'm not doing anything to your precious _Sammy_," She spoke the name harshly, and Dean gasped when he felt the dagger being pulled across his abdomen; he had not been expecting it. "He's doing it all to himself."

"You little…" Dean didn't get a chance to finish the vulgar thought; the blade she was holding continued to cut deeper. "Shit," he hissed.

Moments later she pulled away, and within seconds, dim light flooded the…basement. Or so it seemed, as Dean squinted, taking in his surroundings as he was trying to do before.

The room was about double the size of your average living room, although held nothing remotely personal. Except, he noted with a cringe, the alter, set up on some sort of cabinet, to his far left.

It was large, the size of a dresser, and held, amongst burning black candles, inverted pentagrams, bowls with Celtic designs, and other satanic looking objects; multiple photographs of the Winchester men.

All three of them.

"Well, that's a little creepy." He noted aloud.

"You know nothing." The girl, who was wearing a blacked hooded cloak, covering her face from view, spoke from the other side of the room where she had flipped a light switch. She was headed back for Dean now, dagger still in hand.

"I know you're freakin' me out a little." He said the words casually, but couldn't deny how true they were. "You got an obsession or something? 'Cause most girls, they just flirt."

"You think I'm flirting with you?" Her voice was amused, and Dean was put off by how normal she sounded. How not demonic.

"Again, that would be a joke."

"Sam was never so irritating." She said, an odd infliction, something akin to fond remembrance, taking hold of her voice. "He's a very emotional kind of guy. When he's angry, he let's you know he's angry. When he's worried, he gets fidgety. When he's scared…"

"Okay, I really don't need your insights to my little brother." Dean's temper was flaring.

"I thought you wanted to know what was happening?" She spoke innocently and Dean bit his lip to restrain the next sarcastically bitter response.

"I want to know what you're doing to him." He agreed.

"I told you, Dean." She sighed. "I'm not doing anything."

"So the altar's just for kicks then?"

Had Dean's reflexes not been so outstanding, he'd have found himself with a dagger imbedded firmly through his eye, moments later.

"I'm really sick of listening to you talk." The gothic chick spoke as if she hadn't just almost killed him.

She was now standing at the aforementioned altar, seemingly trying to concentrate intensely on one of the odd looking bowls. Dean's eyes darted hastily between her rigid form, and the knife stuck in the wall to his right.

He had been trying to come up with an escape plan since he had first regained consciousness, but still he could think of no way to get himself out of this predicament.

He didn't let his concern for his little brother hit the surface of his emotions as it was threatening to do. If he did, he'd surly start to panic. Fighting to protect and save Sammy had this way of droning everything else out for Dean, making his little brother his primary concern.

While that logic and mindset worked terrifically on hunts and in crisis situations, Dean knew that the hasty thoughts and single mindedness that it brought him would not work to his advantage here.

Keeping a level head and thinking rationally might be the only way he could figure out what was going on.

So he focused on the girl still standing before her altar. She had begun mumbling incoherently into the bowl she had been focusing on before.

Dean recognized the signs of the rituals immediately, and there was no doubt in his mind that he had indeed tracked down the person cursing his little brother. And if he hadn't gotten himself captured in the process, he might have been proud of himself.

What he did next was incredibly risky, as the crazy chick had just launched a dagger at his head for talking, but he couldn't risk letting her go through with the ceremony she had undoubtedly just started. Not if it was doing what Dean thought it was doing.

"Hey, blondie," he called. Her hood had fallen back at some point, when she'd lifted her head towards the ceiling, invoking something or another. Revealing a mess of short, spiky blonde hair. Her face, when she whirled around angrily to face him, was narrow and feminine looking. "There's not blood in that thing is there? 'Cause that's a little unsanitary."

He couldn't think of anything else to say, and he had caught a brief glance of the bowl's contents.

"You're either incredibly stupid, or really desperate." She bit out.

"Door number two." He answered easily. He refused to let some psychopath with a spell book and a little magical power scare him. "And is it blood? Blood works great in all this mumbo jumbo crap."

"It's blood," she answered, surprising Dean somewhat. He had been expecting something else to be whipped at him. "It's your blood."

"You're using my blood to curse Sam?" He asked, still managing to keep his voice level. "Logical."

She ignored his sarcasm and continued as though he hadn't spoken. "And Sam's blood. Your father's and your mother's. Jessica's too."

She stopped and Dean had to swallow his sudden apprehension. What were the chances she was telling the truth?

"I needed all of it." She continued, her finger had dipped into the bowl, and was swirling the thick liquid. She smiled a tainted smile, looking down at the contents proudly. "I can't kill him. I can't kill the chosen. The power would die with him. But I can use him against himself. Just like I did with Max."

"Max?" Dean croaked.

"My father's idea." She admitted proudly. "It was easy, really. He was weak. Pathetic. Already depressed and…suicidal." She grinned in a way that made Dean want to squirm as far away from his captor as his restraints allowed.

"It's a shame your brother isn't suicidal." She continued, still fingering the blood. "It would have made this whole thing easier. But no, Sammy had to be difficult."

"Don't call him that." Dean ordered.

She ignored him. "He blames himself for the murders, you know. Thinks their deaths were his fault." She let out a single, curt laugh. "He's right, of course. But poking around his head is fun. Guilt for your mother. Guilt for that bitch he was fucking. Even guilt for you."

"Me?" Dean couldn't help but ask ludicrously.

This was clearly the point in time where the bad guy revealed the master plan, under the impression that the hero would soon be too dead to do anything with the information.

Dean had seen enough movies, and watched enough TV shows, to know the plot. And he loved this plot, because the bad guy never won. Not when they messed with Dean's family. Dean would never let them win.

"He feels guilty for leaving you." She said, sharing her insights with a smirk. "Thinks you have abandonment issues. Is he right?"

"You tell me," Dean seethed. "You're the psychic bitch."

"I'm not psychic," she spoke in a surprisingly factual tone. "That was the gift bestowed upon your brother."

"You lost me," Dean said, trying not to groan when he accidentally shifted his body weight and tugged at his overly strained arms.

"You really haven't figured it out yet, have you?" She asked, looking honestly taken aback by that notion.

"Guess I'm just not that quick." He deadpanned.

"Each chosen one receives a gift. Two gifts, if you count the art of telekinesis."

As if to demonstrate, a knife that had been perched on the edge of the altar rose, seemingly of its own accord, and moved until it was hovering before Dean. He kept his eyes firmly fixed on the weapon as she continued to speak, ready to move as much as possible to avoid any possible sudden attacks.

"Max could do that." He spoke calmly. "He was pretty good at it too."

"His skills developed out of self defense. Mine developed out of training. Your brother's developed out of guilt. Guilt really is a driving factor with him." She said, her eyes were focused on the knife she was controlling.

She would jab it in Dean's direction, only to pull it back moments before it hit him. Concentrating on the dagger, and her psychobabble, was proving somewhat difficult.

"Do you know what killed your mother, Dean?"

Her blunt words made him focus entirely on her again.

"A demon." He did not want this witch-bitch speaking about his mom.

"Sort of." She agreed. "A higher being. Some might call him a demon. Others call him a master, a genius."

"Fucking sick people."

Dean was glaring at her as threateningly as he could muster, which proved all too soon to be a mistake. A gasp tore from his throat when part of the knife imbedded itself into his side.

He looked down instinctively, and noted that it only went a few inches deep. Enough to hurt like a bitch, but not enough to hit any vital organs. He watched, unable to turn away, as most of the dagger was pulled out, leaving only the tip mingling with his flesh. Until she pushed it back in. In and out, in and out.

"Don't you dare insult my family, Dean." She said evenly, toying with the knife for a few seconds longer, before pulling it away completely. "We're much stronger, and much smarter than you and yours."

"Oh, yeah?" He rasped, trying with all his might to keep the pain out of his voice. "How's that?"

The knife went sailing back into her hand, and Dean had to admit, it looked like she a pretty decent hold on her powers. More so than Sammy did with his visions, anyway.

It was the thought of his little brother that kept Dean's attention away from the shooting pain in his side, and his half formed murder plans for this bitch.

"It's taken your father the last twenty years to figure out what _might _have caused his wife's death." She smiled proudly; only it was directed at the bowl she was currently letting the blood from the dagger drip into. "It took my dad only until my fifth birthday. When you and _Sammy _were pretending to live normal lives, watching your daddy go off on hunts. Watching him search, watching him search so hard, so fruitlessly. My father had already taught me how to control it."

"The telekinesis?" Dean guessed, wanting her to keep talking.

When he had reached this, normal looking, house, on the outskirts of Denver, he had figured he'd be dealing with something like an angry person with a grudge and access to a local magic shop.

He'd assumed that it would take only some well-placed threats, or a couple rounds with a gun full of rock salt, to get what he wanted, and back to his brother.

What he hadn't expected was to be caught off guard and hit from behind with some blunt object, and to be taken hostage for God knows how long. Only to wake up, chained to a wall like some sort of sacrifice and be forced to engage in chitchat to keep this crazy bitch from killing him.

"Pay attention." She snapped. "The telekinesis is the easy part. The…"

"Free gift?" Dean guessed, cutting her off. "Get one random super power and the ability to move things with your mind comes free?"

Dean had realized at this point, that pissing this chick off might not be the safest method of distraction, put it was sure as hell affective.

"Something like that." She agreed, no anger present in her tone.

"You know, Max…" He started, but was affectively cut off.

"Max was pathetic. Desperate and pathetic." There was that anger Dean had grown accustomed to. "He wanted to use his powers for his own protection. The fool. If he had embraced them totally, he could have destroyed his entire family. He was an idiot."

"So what was his power?" Genuine curiosity mixed with his plans of distraction.

She smirked, and Dean instantly regretted the question. She lifted up a slender hand and waved it towards Dean.

A fire erupted in front of him.

"Holy Fuck!" He shouted, jerking away from the flames.

It wasn't some dinky little bonfire. It was a full eruption of heat and danger, an entire wall of it. Standing between Dean and this demon girl, although notably closer to Dean.

"So much power," she said softly, and pointed her hand again.

One of the flames jumped out of it's confined area and licked at Dean's arm. Only slightly, but enough to get his heart racing.

Dean didn't have many fears. Out of the ones he had to choose from, loosing his family, dying alone, airplanes and fire were the most notable. It wasn't so much fire itself, as he dealt with that a lot in his line of work.

It was the though of being killed by it. Of being taken away from his brother and father the same way his mother had been. Taken away from Sammy the same way Jessica had been. The guilt that would consume his brother at that knowledge was what really scared him.

"So that's what Max could do?" He shouted slightly over the crackling of the flames, not letting her hear the rising panic in his voice. "How come he never used it?"

"He couldn't," she called, still watching and controlling the fire. Sending it out here and there to torture her captive. "He never learned how to control it. Never even knew about it. It was fresh and unused when I stole it."

"After you killed him." Dean clarified.

"No," she denied forcefully. "Murder the chosen, and their powers die with them. Make the chosen kill themselves, and their powers go free."

"Well then your shit out of luck," Dean's anger was now full blown. Only his tone held determination and control as well. He ignored the flames. "There's no way in hell Sammy's gonna kill himself. Not today. Not ever."

"You think?" Her smirk made Dean's stomach lurch. "I've taken the one thing that Sam's always wanted, and handed it to him on a fucking silver platter. Do you think he's just going to walk away from that?"

"A normal life." Dean's voice was dull to his own ears, the fire jumped closer to him.

"That's right," she sounded evil. Her body was outlined by the glow of the flames, and Dean wanted to shudder at the sight of her. "What do you think is going to happen, when he decides that's the life he wants to live?"

The look on Dean's face must have answered for him.

"He's going to escape into his own mind completly, just like he thinks he's already doing. And when he does, he'll die. And it'll be the same thing as a sucicide, because he'll choose that it. He'll choose it over you and your mission. Your life."

"Why?" Dean was desperate, grief-stricken and desperate for answers. "Why do you want to do this?"

"I need his powers." She said simply, concentrating completly on the flames now. "I have empathetic telepathy..." Her eyes darted momentarily back to Dean. "That means I can read thoughts and emotions." Her eyes went back to the flames. "It's how I know your scared shitless right now. It's what helped me cast the spell that opened up Sam's subconscious. It's how I knew he'd want to stay there."

"But Why?" He asked again. "What's the point."

"The point, Dean," she started. "Is that once I get enough power, I'll be able to put my family back together. I'll be able to bring my parents back to life."

"Dead?" He asked ludicrously. "Your dad's dead?"

"Yes." She hissed.

"But, I thought..." Had she not said she could talk to her father?

"I can talk to him." Dean was creeped out to realize that she was answering the words he hadn't spoken out loud. "He knew the day might come where he'd die for his cause. So he made sure there was enough of his spirit still connected to earth. Enough so that I could talk to him. He knows I'll bring him back. We can be a family again."

You're a twisted motherfucker.

She simply smiled and raised her hand once again.

The fire continued to dance.

End Chapter.

* * *

Reviews convince me that I'm not comletly out of my mind for writing this!


	11. Chapter 11

Title: Blackbird

Author: Oldach's Dream

Summary: Someone or Something is trying to trap Sam within his own mind. Alluring him with the promise of the normal life that he's always wanted. Will Dean be able to save his baby brother before he's gone forever?

Disclaimer: Supernatural defiantly isn't my creation.

* * *

Chapter Eleven:

"Something's wrong." Jessica said as soon as Sam woke up with a gasp. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, obviously awake before now.

"Dean." Sam rasped immediately. "Where's Dean?"

"Downstairs." Jess said evenly, not taking her concerned eyes away from him. "Probably making breakfast, pancakes. Smells like it anyway" She paused. "Sam. Are you okay? Do we have to go see Dr. Malid?"

"No!" Sam exclaimed immediately. He took a deep breath, then went on, his voice calmer. "I just...had a nightmare. Dean was in it."

"Are you sure that's all it was?" She asked sternly.

Sam forced a smile and touched her face lightly. "Yeah, that's it."

"Okay." She studied him for another moment, before smiling back happily. "Good. I'm going to take a shower, wanna join me?"

Her eyebrows raised suggestively, but there was laughter in her voice.

"And have Dean walk in on us again?" Talking to her was driving out the remaining emotions from his night time foray into the other world. "No thanks."

Jessica smiled brightly and Sam realized after a second that she was probably relieved to hear that kind of old memory recollection surface from him.

"Suit yourself." She made her way off the bed, kissing him lightly on the cheek, before turning towards the bathroom. "I won't be long."

Sam waited until he heard the water running, before he flopped back down on the bed. He groaned out loud, snatching up Jessica's pillow and holding to his face, breathing in her scent deeply. He kept his arms crossed at his chest when he lowered them again.

Sam couldn't even begin to make sense of what had happened in his nightmare. Or rather, what had happened in the other world. He recalled seeing Dean in the kitchen downstairs, but the more he focused on it, the blurrier those memories became.

He had defiantly never experienced anything like that before. He was left with the sense that it had felt real while it was happening, but it no longer felt real now. Yet waking up back in Grandville had.

Sam shivered, the haunting memories flooded back. Dr. Kabala was doing something to him. Something about a business had been mentioned. And he had threatened Dean; not out right or obviously. But there was a threat there, a promise to Sam; that if his brother ever came back for him, he was as good as dead.

He really didn't know what to do. He wanted to go back to the other world...

_Reality._

He told himself harshly. He had to return to reality and tell Dean that he was in danger. A thought struck him and he shut his eyes tightly.

_I want to go back. I want to go back. I want to go back._

He cracked one eye hesitantly, but already knew he had failed. Sure enough, the room that came into view was the luscious, remodeled, newly dubbed 'guest room' of his old Kansas home.

Having a father with a construction business really did come in handy, he noted absently as his eyes scanned the room. Sam guessed they had torn down the wall between Sam's old childhood bedroom and the hall closet. As the room was bigger than Sam remembered it being from their last visit, but Dean was still crashing in his old room.

It seemed none of his family wanted to leave his side at the moment.

_But they're not real. You're trapped inside you're own head. And Dean's gonna die if you don't get a fucking grip!_

_I want to go back._

He pleaded and pleaded. The way he had when he had returned to Grandville and desperately wanted to come back here. It had worked then. Why was it not working now?

Obviously the curse would play off his natural desire to live in this place. Whoever had cast it on him, knew him well. They knew how desperate Sam was to have a normal life. They knew it and they fed off it, used it against him, used it to get to Dean.

The logic didn't make him feel any better. He needed to get back, but he couldn't make it happen.

Tears of frustration formed, but he blinked them away rapidly. The urge to punch a wall until his knuckles bled surfaced, but he fought it down. He had to think clearly. He had to figure this out.

Okay, what would Dean do?

Sam calmed considerably as his big brother's voice sounded in the back of his mind. A memory, he realized.

_"You gotta keep you're cool Sammy." A fourteen year old Dean reminded him gently. "If you don't know what'll kill it, back off until you do."_

_"I know." Ten year old Sam snapped. But his annoyance was masking fear and he grabbed a fistful of the back of Dean's T-shirt when a strange noise sounded somewhere to their left._

_"It's okay Sammy." Dean assured him, but raised his gun a little higher. "Dad's taught me a dozen different ways to kill a spirit. We'll be okay."_

_Dean's voice was confident and sure, putting Sam at ease slightly. They were lost in the woods, separated from their father, with a killer ghost after them; but Dean was here, so Sam was safe._

_"The hunt is as important as the kill, more important, really. Because with no hunt, you'll never find what you're trying to kill." Dean spoke again, once he was positive that the sound had been innocent. "The kill is the prize at the end. The hunt is the work. The hunt is our lives, it's what we do. You hear me Sammy? We're hunters. And damn good ones at that."_

Hunters. Sam thought now. We're hunters.

Sam had all but forgotten that night in the woods. He realized now that Dean had probably only been speaking as much as he had, to keep his own fear at bay. Sam didn't know it then, but fourteen year old Dean, lost in the woods with his ten year old brother, was capable of feeling fear.

Back then though, Dean had been a superhero.

_The hunt is as important as the kill. The hunt is the work._

Most of the time, Sam hated the way their father had raised them. But right now, he was grateful for the insight.

He had to focus. He Couldn't do anything until he knew what he was dealing with.

He was trapped inside his own head, with aid of a curse. That much he knew. But now, in the real world, Dr. Kabala was drugging him, using him for something. He was in danger. So was Dean.

He went over it again and again. He examined it from every conceivable angle, but every single time, he hit a wall. A stupid, impenetrable, brick wall, that left him standing there scratching his head like a moron.

Dr. Kabala was evil. But had said he had no affiliation with whatever was causing Sam's reality shifts. Of course, Sam really didn't think he was all that trustworthy. Then again, why would he bother lying about that? After everything else he admitted, or alluded to, why hide that?

He was once again at a loss. There was nothing to do. No way of helping himself. No way of doing research or contacting the real Dean. He was useless.

"You look anxious." Jessica's voice from the bathroom door made him jump and swing his legs over the side of the bed, finally sitting up. "Are you sure you're alright?"

Sam couldn't help but notice how good she looked, her half dry blonde hair framing her face. Old, worn, comfortable, jeans and a simple T-shirt. She was as beautiful as Sam remembered. Yet Sam couldn't enjoy as much as he had just hours before.

"I'm fine." He got up off the bed and walked over, kissing her fully on the mouth. As he had expected, he did not get the same sense of wholeness he had before.

He felt like he was faking it somehow. Acting.

"I love you." But it still felt real too.

Sam needed to do something, and he needed to do it soon.

"Love you." He told her back, and he knew he still meant it. Meant it with every inch of his heart. But Dean...

"Let's go see what your brother attempted to cook, huh?" Jess said with a grin and Sam followed her out the bedroom door without much thought.

That's something he had forgotten about daily life in a normal world; extensive thought was not put into mundane activities.

There were times at school where Sam could drift in and out of classes all day, not bothering to do anything but be there; and no one ever noticed. It was a depressing thought about everyday life, and he wasn't surprised that he had pushed it away.

When he was hunting, Sam remembered, almost fondly, he had to be sharp all the time. One slip, one daydream at the wrong moment, and he could die. Or worse, an innocent person could die; worse still, his brother.

No, every Winchester possessed the ability to be sharper and more focused than almost any other human being on the planet. At least, in the real world they did.

Here, however, they were all normal. Everyday, common folk. Standard in every way plausible.

"Sammy!" Dean exclaimed happily when the couple appeared in the kitchen.

"Kiddo," his father spoke the term of endearment with annoyance. "Could you please come over here and show your brother how to flip a pancake."

"Hey," Dean exclaimed with laughter as he was pushed away from the stove. "It's not my fault the thing broke in half."

"Sam." Mary said his name in mock desperation form the kitchen table. Obviously begging him to get his father and brother to quit squabbling like children.

Oh, if I had that power. Sam thought wistfully, before moving to the stove and shaking his head sadly at Dean.

"Do I have to do everything?" He joked lightly as he snatched the spatula away from the older man.

"You know what, Sam..." He let the sentence trail off threateningly and took a step forward.

"What?" Sam asked, stepping forward as well, accepting the mock challenge.

Their mom had appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, and thrust a pile of plates at her eldest son's chest. "Go set the table, why don't you?"

"Mom." He whined, but gave it up almost immediately. He settled for throwing a glare in Sam's direction, before moving to the round kitchen table.

Sam rolled his own eyes and flipped a sizzling pancake. He couldn't help but recall, that in the real world, Dean had been the one to teach him to do so. Dean had always cooked when they were younger. And older, if you considered being the one to grab the take out, cooking.

"So, what's everyone doing today?" Mary threw the question out as she helped Dean place everything at their appropriate places. Sam remained at the stove, Jess by his side. Their dad was leaning against a counter near the corner of the room, quite obviously trying to stay out of the way.

He was the first one to speak. "I've got those five apprentices from the community college to work with." He said gruffly, picking at the apple he was toying with. I've been putting it off for too long."

"You should just get Aaron to do it." Dean said, not taking his eyes away from the dishes. "They won't know the difference."

"They will when Aaron teaches them how to do something wrong." John snapped, although it lacked malice.

"I thought you liked Aaron." Sam ventured. Aaron was the recently hired, head of the finical department; or so Dean had told him.

"I did." John said evenly, sending his youngest son a look somewhere between shocked and proud, but his voice did not change. "Until he screwed up the Ramsey's order and we ended up with thirty-two extra boxes of roof shillings."

Mary clucked her tongue, seemingly amused. "You're way too critical." She scolded her husband lightly.

"Yeah, Mr. W," Jessica threw in. "Everyone makes mistakes."

"He's made too many." John sounded set in his decision and was left scowling at the wall for a moment. Before shaking his head and seemingly deciding to let it go. "Anyway, I'm gonna need your help today Dean."

"Well, that answers that question." His brother was now lounging in one of the wooden chairs, his hands folded behind his head leisurely, the table was set and ready to be used.

"What about you two?" Mary directed at her youngest child, and the girlfriend they had all come to consider as family.

"Diana and Allen are sending the rest of our things over." Jessica said, while taking out a serving plate for the pancakes, and other breakfast side dishes that had been cooking along with them.

The friends from California who had lived next door to them and agreed to use their spare key, go into their apartment and pack up all their things and send them over. Seeing as no one in the Winchester family wanted to fly halfway across the country to do it themselves.

Diana and Allen did not exist in reality, so Sam just shrugged and kept quiet when they were mentioned.

"You can borrow the truck." Dean added helpfully, referring to the one they used in their business. "We won't be using it today."

She shrugged lightly, "I probably won't need it. The car'll be fine."

"I'll go with you." Sam said to Jess.

"You don't have to." She assured him. "It's just a couple little things, you know," she shrugged. "Dean helped me with all the bigger stuff, last week."

Right, Sam thought stupidly. Last week, when he'd been in a coma, or in the real world fighting some lower level demon, or who knew what else.

He nodded. "You sure, cause I'm..."

"Not supposed to strain yourself." Jessica cut in.

"She's right Sammy." Dean said, and the rest of his family was nodding affirmatively.

"Fine." He agreed, just to placate them. "I'll hang out here today, but don't expect me to stay inactive forever."

"Never." Dean answered easily. "Just today."

"And maybe tomorrow." Their mom threw in with a smirk.

"Just the rest of this week." John pitched.

"Maybe..." Jess started, smiling widely, but Sam beat her to it.

"Alright, I get it." He laughed heartily. "I'll be good."

"Good." They chorused variously.

Breakfast was done minutes later and they all sat around the table, speaking of inconsequential things. Sam kept his mind off everything else, as he almost always did when was surrounded by his normal family.

It wasn't until halfway through the meal, when something unusual happened. Dean rose innocently from his chair, holding on lightly to his empty glass.

Sam didn't think much of it, he was focused on something his parents were bickering over. His eyes glanced to the left, for just a fraction of a second, but what he thought he saw made him do a double take.

He could of sworn Dean had blood all over him. Bruises and cuts, blood trickling down his chin in a steady trail. But it was gone when he looked again.

The weird dream. Sam remembered immediately. The one he could barely recall. Dean had been standing in this very kitchen, looking battered and beaten.

The flash was clearer now that he had something to look at, a helpful visual aid. He kept his eyes plastered to his brother, trying to dredge up memories from the night before. It was almost like trying to cup water in his hands, one movement could disrupt the whole fragile process.

_"...you can't run...you can't hide...we're all waiting...all inside..."_

The words echoed through his mind, and for a second, he was honestly scared.

"Sammy?" John Winchester called his son's name lightly. "You okay over there?"

Sam shook his head to clear it. "Yeah." He answered with a nod, looking back at the people seated around the table, which now included his brother, as he had rejoined them. "Just remembering something."

They all looked hopeful and Sam immediately wanted to smack himself. "About a dream I had last night." He added hastily and ignored the guilt their disappointed faces aroused.

"The one that had you all panicked this morning?" Jess asked concernedly and Sam shot her a glare. To which she simply raised her eyebrows, stating clearly, 'No, I'm not lying to your family about it.'

"Panicked?" Mary asked, sounding more than a little panicked herself.

"I'm fine." Sam was quick to assure. "It was just a weird dream. A normal, weird dream."

"You sure?" Dean asked.

"Yes." Sam rolled his eyes, exasperated. Okay, so he was lying, but it's not like he could tell them that. "You all worry too much."

John scoffed, "Well excuse us for being concerned, Sam." He said tightly. "But you did just wake up from a coma." He sounded tense. It wasn't a far reach from how his father would react in the real world.

In fact, his tone, even his words, were almost identical to a few recollections Sam had. Only in his memories, his father was always scolding Dean for trying to out do himself after suffering some injury.

"Dr. Malid didn't say anything about dreams being...warning signs, or anything." Sam said, trying to sooth his dad's anger.

"That doesn't mean that it doesn't mean anything." John argued. "We should call her, just to be sure.

Sam opened his mouth to argue, but his mom cut him off. "Your dad's right." She said, and Sam felt am inexplicable lump form in his throat at the words.

"Thank you." John nodded at her and Sam saw Dean roll his eyes.

"I'll call her today, while you boys are at work." She looked at her youngest son, and smiled warmly. "You're right Sammy, it is probably nothing, but I don't want to take any chances. Will you do us all a favor and humor me."

Sam nodded, all thoughts of protesting gone. This was what he'd always wanted. "Sure mom." The words felt so foreign on his tongue. "No problem."

"Good." She said. "Now that that's settled..."

The conversation drifted back to light and carefree. Every person at the table shot him a concerned look, at least every five minutes. But Sam didn't care.

0000000000000000000000000000000000

Sam was humming to himself lightly as he wondered throughout his house. It had taken him a couple seconds, but he realized now that the tune he couldn't get out of his head, was the one demonic Dean had said over and over.

_You can't run. You can't hide. We're all waiting. All inside._

What did that mean? Did it mean anything?

Dr. Kabala's musings had led him to believe that hallucinations were expected side affects of whatever he was doing.

What the fuck was he doing? Could he be working with the person doing this to him?

Sam swallowed a lump in his throat as he thought about his brother. He had no idea how much time had passed in the real world. He knew he had thought about it before, but it was much more urgent now.

He'd been here for four steady days. Nights were a different consideration, but they didn't matter right now. Four days here, how many days in reality?

Was Dean hurt, or in trouble? Was he caught up in the hunt? Had Sam actually told him he would call? He did not remember anymore.

So many questions bombarded him, but he could do nothing about any of them. He was still trapped here. Now that he actually started to see it as a trap, he could do nothing to change it.

He was back at that idiotic brick wall again.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, he made his way back to his room, deciding that a nice hot shower would not help in the least, but it would make him feel better.

"Hey." He said as soon as he opened the door. "I thought you were going...what's the matter?"

Jessica was sitting on the side of the bed, her face was red and puffy and she was hastily wiping tears away. Sam could tell that she had not expected him to walk in.

"Yeah," she said taking a deep breath. "I was just about to head out." Yet she made no effort to move.

Sam felt all his own worries and fears take a back seat, as he approached his girlfriend. He sat down next to her and hesitantly placed an arm around her shoulders.

He may have been better than his brother at excessive emotional displays, but that didn't mean he was actually any good at them. Still, comforting Jessica had never felt uncomfortable. He'd always felt the need to protect her. Not that she let him do it all that much.

Jess was extremely independent, which was why Sam always paid extra attention when something like this happened.

"Tell me what's wrong." He requested gently, pulling her into his side. God he loved her.

"Nothing." She choked out with a watery smile. "I'm fine."

"You're lying." Sam said unnecessarily, they both already knew that much. "Are you worried about me, cause I really am fine."

This world might be fake, but that didn't mean she was. Okay, maybe it did, but Sam didn't see it that way. She was still Jessica. She was still the woman that he had fallen in love with.

"That's not it." She admitted "I mean, I'm worried about you, but..." she shook her head.

"Whatever it is, you can tell me." He placed a gentle kiss on her temple and wrapped his other arm around her. She burrowed into his chest, grapping onto the front of his shirt. "I love you."

He felt her take a few deep, shuddering breaths. "I..." she trailed off and Sam continued to rub her back soothingly.

"It's alright." He assured her.

"No it's not." She said, pulling away from him. Sam wanted to grab for her, beg her to never leave him again, but he stayed where he was.

Watching her stand up and wrap her own arms around herself. She started pacing and Sam knew quite suddenly that perhaps this wasn't alright. Jessica was not a nervous person by nature, and pacing was not something she did when she wasn't seriously stressed out.

"Baby," he tried, more urgency present. "What's wrong?"

"The night of the robbery," she started. And Sam wished briefly that she would just do what his brother always did, and blurt out whatever it was that was bothering her.

Still, he kept his growing apprehension at bay and prodded her along. "Yeah?"

"I was sick that night, or I thought I was sick." She took a breath and Sam fisted the blanket beneath him nervously. "I kept passing out at the hospital, and when Dean first called me. I thought I was just worried you know? In shock?" She let out a humorless laugh.

"Jess..." he started but she went on, as if she hadn't heard him.

"Dr. Malid took a sample of my blood one of those first days...she wanted to prescribe something for the flu, or I don't know, something." Another deep breath. "But then she came back with the results...God, Sam. You were in a coma, I didn't know what to do, nobody knew. So I guess I just pretended that it wasn't there. I ignored it..."

"Jess..."

She stopped pacing and looked him directly in the eye. Sam felt his stomach drop out from under him. Her next words were expected, but still felt like a sledge hammer to the gut.

"Sam." She paused and bit her lip. "I'm pregnant."

End Chapter.

A/N: Yeah, you know the drill. You review, and I'm more inclined to write the chapters. Of course, at this point, you could probably say anything, and I'd still keep writing.

This fic has gotten inside my head, tangled its way inside my brain, squeezed its proverbial tentacles and it will not leave me alone. When I finally finish writing it I...I have no idea what I'll do, but I'll be happy. Really, really, really happy.

Tootles for now.


	12. Chapter 12

Title: Blackbird

Author: Oldach's Dream

Summary: Someone or Something is trying to trap Sam within his own mind. Alluring him with the promise of the normal life that he's always wanted. Will Dean be able to save his baby brother before he's gone forever?

Disclaimer: Supernatural defiantly isn't my creation.

Rating: M

A/N: Well, here 'tis. Next installment. On the bright side, this chapter contains one of my favorite original characters of all time. A comic relief character that jumped from my fingertips onto the screen and into this plot.

And, the end is finally in sight for this fic. Meaning I have a vague idea as to what's going to happen. But like I said, it may take a while from here on out. Thanks to all of those who continue to stick with it, anyway. And I do promise that it will be completed. Eventually.

This chapter is a little short. Short for me anyway, and I really couldn't find a better place to stop. I just wanted to get something out, hope you enjoy!

And on that note, onto the story.

* * *

Chapter Twelve.

Sam had woken up more times in the past week than he had in over a month. And really, he was just getting fucking sick of it. Pass out in one world, wake up in another. Not that he ever really remembered the transitions.

Other than the one that had been excruciatingly painful, it was mostly; blink and you're somewhere else.

Like Sam was now back at Granville. The atmosphere here was substantially less frightening than it had been last time.

Of course that was probably due to the light streaming through the tiny window above his head. Well, that, and the fact that Dr. Kabala was nowhere in sight. That helped too.

Sam groaned and tried to move, not really expecting it to work. Just as he had suspected, he was tethered to the bed. Trapped like an animal.

Jessica's pregnant.

Now that he was back in this world, all he wanted to do was return to the other.

Whoever was casting this curse him, quite obviously thought that treating his emotions like a yo-yo was amusing.

He wondered briefly how much a say his own subconscious had in this whole thing. Could he have made Jessica pregnant?

He chuckled stupidly at the irony of that thought.

Of course he had. One way or another.

"What's so funny crazy boy?" A voice sounded from the doorway, making Sam jump as much as his restraints allowed.

"Who are you?" He asked frantically. He knew immediately that it was not Dr. Kabala. That fact assured him only marginally, given his position at the moment.

"I'm a coo-coo crispy, just like you." The person moved within Sam's line of vision.

A patient, he realized. A young man, no older than Sam himself, with a high-pitched voice. He was as skinny as could be; Sam could actually see his ribs poking through the thin hospital gown.

"What?" Sam asked, still trying to get a hold on everything.

"I'm a nut." He stated factually. "I've gone bonkers, I'm a whack job. Although I'm not as bad as you. You're the mumble and the rumble of our humble abode. Did you know?"

"…Dr. Seuss?" Sam questioned stupidly. But really, what else could he say to that?

"A brilliant man." He nodded, and kept nodding. He stood at the foot of Sam's bed, nodding repeatedly. "An inspiration to all. A friend to many a child. Wild and mild, like a brilliant bull."

"...right." Sam said. "How'd you get in here?" Skinny rhyming guy shot him an odd look. "Doesn't Dr. Kabala keep the door locked?"

"Kabala is the monster that prowls at night." He said with a shudder and Sam raised his eyebrows. "The others are here, but they don't quite care."

"Others?" This was the first real person he'd spoken to, other than Dr. Kabala, since his brother had left him here. Sam didn't care how crazy he was, he would try his best to get information out of him.

"The others that don't care." He nodded, as if that answered the question. "We're free to play during the day." He smiled, but then stopped abruptly. "But it's a quiet game, the loser will be put to shame."

"So we all have to be quite?" Sam guessed.

He smiled widely and started nodding again. Sam couldn't help but note the bags under his eyes and his pasty skin. Was this guy simply nuts, or was he another one of Dr. Kabala's victims? Or both?

"Hey," An idea came to him. "You think you can undo these restraints for me?" He shook his arm, indicating what he was referring to. "So I can play too?" He added.

Skinny guy bit his lip, but complied after only a moment. He shot nervous glances at the door the whole time, but eventually managed to get Sam free.

"Thanks, man." He said, standing up and shaking out his limbs. There was a bandage wrapped around his arm, which still throbbed slightly.

He was also slightly dizzy, but he thought that might have been from malnutrition, as he could not recall eating anything since he got here. There was certainly nothing hooked up to him, supplying him with nutrients, as there would be at a normal hospital.

"The game is pointless." He said to Sam's thanks.

"What?" Sam asked.

"We all lose." He said. "You can't run, you can't hide, they're all waiting, all inside."

Sam's head turned sharply at the words. "What!"

"Shhhhhh." He said frantically in response. "They'll hear, and be near. I don't want to be there."

"Okay." Sam backed off immediately. "I'm sorry. I'll be quiet."

Rhyming guy nodded, seeming to calm a bit. Sam chanced it, "What you said before. Where'd you hear it?"

"Here." He answered simply. "Here, there and everywhere. They're everywhere."

"Who is 'they'?" Sam asked, fed up. He was sick of mind games.

"They make the game that we all play. We hide at night, but it's not alright." He obviously was not going to prove to be much help to Sam.

He sighed out loud. "Aright, fine." He decided. "They come at night and make everyone play a game. Dr. Kabala is evil."

As he listed these things, the mental patient nodded. "Do you know where my things might be?" Sam decided to try a different route. "The stuff that I brought with me here?" He said, just to clarify.

The guy simply shrugged and Sam was grateful for the non-ambiguous, non-rhyming, answer. Even it didn't help him.

"Well, how 'bout a phone?" He tried hopefully. "I really have to get a hold of my brother. Something bad is going on here."

"You can't hide." He quoted one of the lines and Sam gritted his teeth.

"No," he agreed slowly. "But I can get us out of here."

"They're all waiting."

"All inside." He finished angrily. "Yeah, I get it. Thanks."

Sam decided that he had had enough of the crazy guy and walked past him, cautiously into the hallway. Which had seemed much less confining when he there with his brother.

The hallway was deserted and Sam couldn't help but be grateful. The last thing he needed now was a run-in with Dr. Kabala. Although Dr. Seuss guy had more or less indicated that he was only present at night.

He doubted that that was an entirely accurate assessment. After all, it had been daytime when Sam and Dean had arrived here the first time. Perhaps the doctor only made his rounds at night.

Sam let the pointless thought drift away from him as he made his way through the corridors of the hospital carefully. He had to find a phone and contact Dean. Before the crazy, evil doctor realized he was missing. Or before his other world pulled him back, as it had been doing more and more frequently.

His other world, where Jessica was pregnant. Where he was going to be a father.

"_Wake up Sam." _

Jessica's pleading, tearful voice filled his mind suddenly. Sam braced his arm against the closest wall. She was right there. Right on the edge of his conscious...

"_I need you Sam. I'm so sorry..."_

"Don't fall over." Sam spun around when he heard the Dr. Seuss guy's voice.

"Thanks." He said. And meant it genuinely. He was on the brink of going back. But he couldn't. Not yet.

He had to get to Dean.

"Thanks are for banks, I come for the ranks."

"Sure you do." Sam agreed easily and patted him on the shoulder. He had no idea what that meant. But he was still here.

Sam continued to creep along the wall slowly. The skinny guy was following him, copying his movements.

They stopped at a corner, waiting for a woman in a white uniform, pushing a cart along merrily, to pass. Sam was almost relieved to see another life form.

"What's you're name?" He asked in a whisper once she had passed, he was thoroughly sick of referring to him as 'Dr. Seuss guy' in his thoughts.

"You've reached the Ku Klux Klan, take a number and we'll get back to you momentarily." He paused for a moment, staring straight ahead. "Beep."

"Ah..." He didn't quite know how to respond to that. "My name's Sam." He tried.

"Sam I am." His face lit up instantly and Sam cringed. Right, the Dr. Seuss story that shared his name. Dean had teased him enough about it when he was a kid, how could he have of forgotten? "I do not like Green Eggs and Ham."

"Of course you don't." Sam agreed. "Are you sure there's not something I can call you?"

"The KKK took my baby away." He stated factually and Sam snorted.

"That's a good song."

The guy gave Sam a weird look, so he explained. "The Ramones, right? My brother loves them."

He looked at him blankly, "David Hasselhoff."

Sam stared at him, blinked twice, and then shook his head. "Coast is clear."

They proceeded down the hallway. Sam looked in every room that they passed, ignoring his crazy tag along. At least this guy was the fun kind of crazy, he thought, and felt only mildly guilty for doing so. He was the kind of crazy that took Sam's mind off the true insanity that had been plaguing his life lately.

Finally, after what seemed like hours of fruitless searching, he came across a promising looking room. It wasn't a patient's room, that was for sure. It was spacious, decorated with a long table in the center. Snack, coffee and pop machines were present. A nurse's lounge, he realized.

Not that it mattered. No, all that mattered now was the phone Sam had spotted on the counter. It was sitting there so innocently. Sam almost wanted to cry at the sight of it.

The room was empty and Sam was struck with the urge to shoot a look up at the ceiling and shout, 'Well it's about fucking time something went my way!'

"Wait!" Dr. Seuss guy whispered frantically. Sam sent him a panicked, exasperated look. Who knew how long this place would remain empty. Why was he wasting time? "That's off limits. It out of bounds. Un-solid grounds. We can't go there, it's not fair..."

"I told you before," Sam said, cutting him off. "I have to talk to my brother."

The guy bit his lip and his eyes widened and darted from Sam to the room and back again nervously. Sam scolded himself for trying to use logic on an obviously mentally unwell person.

He thought about pulling away from the skinny guy and entering the room anyway. But he didn't want to risk him making any noise. He was so close; he would not blow it now.

Okay. He reasoned to himself. Normal logic wasn't going to work. Why not try something else.

"Do you want to win the game?" Sam asked.

He nodded, but was still biting his lip. Sam felt suddenly sorry for him. The guy may be nuts, but no one deserved to be left in the care of Dr. Kabala with no way out.

"Well, my brother can help." Sam told him. "He can help us win the game."

"Does he hold the magic vessel?" He asked, completely serious.

Again, Sam had no idea what that meant, but, "Yeah. Yeah, he does. Can I call him now?"

He looked hesitant, but nodded. Sam felt relief crash through him and was left with the vague desire to give this guy a hug. He restrained himself though, saying instead, "Good. Can you keep an eye out, and let me know if anyone's coming?"

Dr. Seuss guy nodded and Sam wasted no time in dashing across the room. He thought briefly that perhaps he should just make a run for it. Find the front doors of this place and take off. Yet he knew that was illogical.

This town was tiny, and the mental hospital was miles away from any form of civilization. Plus he had no mode of transportation. No, contacting Dean was his safest bet. But this seemed too easy, which made him uneasy.

He dialed his brother's cell phone number, ignoring that feeling, being sure to hit 9, so he could reach outside the building. His hands were shaking and his stomach felt hallow.

This was too easy.

The phone was ringing and his apprehension rose. He could feel it threatening to over whelm him. He'd never been in a scarier situation in his entire life. And that was saying something, considering what they did for a living.

He defiantly needed his brother.

The ringing continued and Sam couldn't help but panic slightly.

"Come on Dean. Pick up the goddamn phone." He mumbled. "You always have your phone. Answer now, or I swear to God..."

"You've reached my voicemail." Dean's recorded voice cut him off and Sam swore under his breath. "I obviously can't get to the phone right now. Leave me a message and I'll get back to you."

Sam waited impatiently for the tone that indicated he could start his message. And began babbling as soon as it sounded.

"Dean." His voice was much less calm than he'd have liked, hell, it was downright panicked, but he couldn't help it. At least his brother would pay attention to it immediately. "I need your help. The doctor here is nuts. He's doing something Dean, I don't know, but it's not good and you have to come get me out of here, I..."

A gunshot rang out and Sam jumped, clutching the phone to his side. He whirled around to find himself facing an incredibly sadistic looking Dr. Kabala; Dr. Seuss guy's body had crumpled to the floor, blood was pouring out from his obviously fatal gun wound, spreading itself around the doctor's feet. Thick and almost mesmerizing in it's solidness, it looked almost untouchable, sacred.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and forced himself to return to the phone in his now shaky hand. His voice sounded scared and hollow to his own ears. "Help Dean. I can't get out of here myself, I need you..."

Dr. Kabala raised the gun again, aiming first at Sam's head, then suddenly down and to the right. Only when the shot rang out did Sam notice that he had been firing at the phone jack on the wall, which was now affectively destroyed.

Sam dropped the phone and looked him straight in the eye. Something his father had taught him to do years ago. If you acted scared of the enemy, he had always said, you might as well forfeit.

"Sam, Sam, Sam." He said in that raspy, throaty voice. Sam clenched his teeth.

This guy was a murderer. He had just killed one of his own patients in cold blood. "What did I tell you? You are a hindrance to your brother. Dean's not coming back for you."

Either Dr. Kabala truly believed that, or he was a full-fledged sociopath. His face betrayed absolutely nothing, not the slightest hint of fear or anxiety.

The doctor took a step towards him, and Sam immediately fell into a fighting stance. The kung fu, and other various fighting techniques he had mastered over the years, would in no way prove useful against a gun and a psychopathic doctor. But there's no way he wasn't going down fighting.

Kabala just raised the gun, pointing it steadily at Sam's head. "I don't understand why you hate me so much, Sam." His voice was still as calm as could be. "Most people would die for my cause." He smirked wickedly, and Sam got the pun.

Sam's eyes continually darted between the doctor's face and the gun. He made himself ignore the growing stench of blood and death that was rising from the doorway, from the dead body in the doorway.

"What is your cause?" Sam asked, attempting to sound steady. He was trying to stall the doctor, but found also that he wanted to know the answer. Dean would know by now.

"I help people Sam." He said simply, advancing slightly on him.

"No you bastard," He said angrily. "_I _help people. You kill them."

"You think a lot of yourself, don't you boy?" He asked and chuckled. "And if you're referring to Jimmy over there," he gestured to the corpse in the doorway. "That was an unfortunate outcome. But don't you worry; his death won't be for nothing. It might not be as useful as it should have been, but it won't go to waste."

"No, of course not," Sam said sarcastically, sidestepping him slightly, trying not to be obvious in his attempts at gaining freedom.

"Your death won't be for nothing either Sam." Dr. Kabala took a step closer; he was directly in front of him now, blocking him entirely. Sam could do nothing but stare. "They'll be waiting for you Sam."

With that, Dr. Kabala pulled the trigger. Sam let out a harsh, pain filled scream. His fighting stance collapsed as he grasped at his upper arm, where the bullet had hit him. Dr. Kabala was still staring, and before Sam could even manage a coherent thought, the doctor began to sing in a low tone.

"You can't run. You can't hide. They're all waiting. All inside."

He stopped and grinned wickedly. Sweat had broken out on Sam's forehead, dripping into his eyes, impairing his vision. Pain consumed him and he thought absently that a minor gunshot wound shouldn't hurt this much. That's why they call them 'minor'. No organs had been hit; it was just his arm, his left arm…

"I hate guns, Sam." He said simply, sounding as regretful as a man incapable of emotion could. "They're so barbaric."

So he raised the barbaric weapon again, and Sam was staring down the barrel of the gun helplessly. The doctor's trigger finger curled, but before the shot could be fired, Sam was gone.

He blinked rapidly at the darkened room and grabbed at his arm immediately, but wasn't that surprised when it was not at all painful. He found himself once again, in a hospital bed.

"That's turning into a really good defense mechanism." He said out loud. Since the room was dark, he wasn't entirely sure he was talking to.

"Oh God, Sam." Jessica's voice was immediate, and Sam was almost blindsided when she threw herself into his arms. She planted her face in the crook of his neck, whispering in his ear tearfully. "I'm so, so sorry. I didn't mean make you go away. I just wanted you to know."

Sam soothed her, rubbing her back, encircling his arms around her. "It's okay." He mumbled, he was beyond filled with relief to see her again. "I'm okay."

Here anyway, he thought to himself. In the real world he might be dead. He cringed at the thought. What would happen if he died in the real world? Would he stay here?

What if Dean broke the curse?

Dean. Crap. Sam had called him. He had called him, but he probably wouldn't be conscious if his brother showed up.

When his brother showed up.

Dean would show up to save him, he knew that.

The question now was, would there be anything left to save?

End Chapter.

* * *

Review if you please. 


	13. Chapter 13

Title: Blackbird

Author: Oldach's Dream

Summary: Someone or Something is trying to trap Sam within his own mind. Alluring him with the promise of the normal life that he's always wanted. Will Dean be able to save his baby brother before he's gone forever?

Disclaimer: Supernatural defiantly isn't my creation. Jared and Jensen are pretty.

Rating: M

A/N: I'm really sorry about the long delay in posting, I... Well I'm utterly and completely fed up with this story. I made the mistake of writing the _last _chapter before the rest of it was done. Here's a tip: If you ever intend on finishing a story, _never _do that. Because now it's like the story's over. Only it's not. And I have to keep writing.

Okay, I'll stop blambering and let you read this chapter now. Hope it was worth the wait!

* * *

Chapter: Thirteen

_"Dean."_

Sam's voice filtered through the cell phone, which was being held up and displayed by the psychotic girl in front of him. Dean tugged and thrashed at his bindings, but held no real hope of getting loose. All he could do was listen to his brother's desperate pleas, recorded onto his voicemail, his helpless feelings growing more pronounced by the second.

"_I need your help. The doctor here is nuts. He's doing something Dean, I don't know, but it's not good and you have to come get me out of here, I..."_

A gunshot rang out, cutting his brother off. Dean had no doubt that that's what the sudden, loud, _crack _sound had been. The knowledge of that was enough to make Dean's blood run cold, and his heart stop.

Sammy, he thought, biting his lip to keep from actually crying out. Come on Sam, he pleaded silently, say something, make a noise. Let me know you're okay.

The next few moments would go down in remembrance as the longest and most terrifying of Dean's life. Because for a few moments, he wasn't sure if his brother was alive or dead. He didn't know whether or not he had failed.

For a few moments, Dean was convinced it had all been for nothing. That everything was over.

Then Sam's hallow voice sounded again. It was enough to bring tears of relief to the elder Winchester's eyes.

"_Help Dean. I can't get out of here myself, I need you..."_

The gun sounded again, and this time Dean knew that the line had been disconnected. The harsh, _beep, beep, beep _of the phone line confirmed his suspicions only moments later.

"Well, Dean, I guess Sammy's in a bit of a scrape." The demonic chick snapped his cell phone shut, tossing it carelessly to the side of the room. Dean watched as it clattered across the floor. "What do you think's up with that doctor? Sounds kinda creepy."

And the worst part was, her cruel taunting was completely deserved.

Dean didn't respond.

"But I'm sure Sammy's just overreacting, right Dean?" She smirked evilly. "I mean you checked out that hospital before you dumped him there, right? Gave it two thumbs up and a gold star?"

She studied his downcast eyes and blank expression, and Dean was absently grateful that she had gotten rid of the fire; just moments after his cell phone had begun to chirp.

"Oh my God." She dragged out in mock exasperation. "You didn't, did you? You had no idea what was going on there. You just dumped your little brother there like he meant absolutely nothing." She shook her head, and Dean glared, not finding it within himself to do much more.

She simply continued. "You know, my father told me that a lot of your strength, why the Winchester's were _so_ dangerous and why I should be so _cautious_ around them, laid in your relationship as brothers." She smirked. "My father has never been wrong before. But I guess I'll have to tell him he overestimated you guys.

I mean, if you could just leave Sammy like that…"

"Stop calling him that!" Dean shouted, finally fed up with her. "I didn't abandon him! I was trying to do the right thing! He was supposed to be safe!"

"But he isn't, is he?" Her voice was low and threatening. "He's going to die. He might already be dead. Because of you."

Dean had never felt so much blind rage in his entire life. Nor had he ever felt as ashamed, as he did right at that moment. This demon, this witch, whoever she was, she was using Sam's predicament to get to Dean. To get him to fail in his, albeit pathetic, attempts to save his brother.

At the same time, she was telling him that he was horrible brother. What hurt the most, was hearing that. Hearing the cold, hard truth; that he had done this to Sam. That he had abandoned him. Lost him.

To hear it from a demon though, to be legitimately criticized by an evil being…shame was not a strong enough of a word. Complete and utter despair was just scratching the surface of his feelings.

He didn't think a word or phrase existed that could effectively describe what he was feeling right now. It was like someone had torn out his heart and shoved it through his stomach. Then made him relive every even remotely bad experience of his entire life, again and again and again. Before repeating the process. And that just _started_ to scratch the surface of what he was feeling.

"Geez Dean," She mocked a sympathetic tone. "I didn't upset you, did I?"

The eldest Winchester brother felt defeated, for the first time he could ever remember, he wanted to give up. It wasn't a feeling he liked too much.

"What do you want?" He asked pathetically, arms sagging on restraints he no longer bothered trying to struggle away from.

"I already told you what I want." She said, a little anger present. "I want my family back."

"You know," Dean started, unable to resist himself. If he couldn't go down fighting, at least he could go down unafraid. "Most people, when they lose a family member, they just get counseling. I think all you really need is a good shrink. How much do you think Dr. Phil charges?"

"You really think your sarcasm is going to make this better?" She smirked. "I can read your fucking mind, remember? I know you just gave up. I know you believe that Sam's dead."

"He's not dead!" Dean said forcefully, perhaps there was some fight left in him after all.

"You don't believe that." She said factually. "You know it's true."

Dean couldn't find it in himself to actually gauge his own thoughts on the matter. He couldn't tell if he really believed, knew, that Sam was dead. Or if she was just saying this to get him to believe that's what he thought.

This chick was playing a twisted game. One that the Winchester's had fallen right in the middle of. One of death and other worlds and resurrections and spells and psychic powers. Dean was in over his head; he had no problem admitting that now, he just didn't know what to do about it.

"You hang there, and wait for your brother's powers to come to me." She answered his thought.

"Stop doing that." He demanded, knowing it was pointless.

"But it's fun." She smiled.

"I thought you said you couldn't get his powers if someone killed him." Dean remembered suddenly, hope springing up. "You said he had to…"

"Kill himself?" She laughed at Dean's difficulty in saying the words. "Well see now, that's the beauty of my curse. As long as Sam was in his make believe world when he was killed, it's still suicide enough for me to get his powers."

"He's not dead." Dean said firmly. "If he was, you'd already have his powers."

She sighed, rolling her eyes, annoyed. "Yeah, you're probably right. He's still alive." She paused, before her eyes locked Dean's gaze. "For now."

Dean gritted his teeth angrily, before letting out an almost dangerously un-humorous, low-toned chuckle. "You are a fucked up piece of shit, You know that!"

"Watch the language." Was her only reply.

"I hope you die a slow, painful, torturous death." He seethed, putting his imagination to good use, hoping that she could see the images flashing behind the backs of his eyelids.

She only smirked again. "No Dean, that's reserved for your little bother."

Dean stopped breathing once more, gritting his teeth harder, waiting for her to go on. He wondered briefly if all the information he had gathered on her, from her, was for nothing. Would he make it out of here in time to do anything about it?

Would he make it out of here at all?

"Do you know what happens, when someone dies and they're trapped inside a curse like that?" He couldn't tell if her triumphant expression came from talking about Sam's entrapment, or if she had read his thoughts again. Probably both.

"They get to stay there forever?" He guessed, although he had no idea why he bothered.

She snorted. Actually snorted her amusement. The moment felt suddenly incredibly surreal.

"If that was the case, Dean, It wouldn't really be a good curse, now would it?" Something in the way she said his name made him shudder.

"Then what happens?" He didn't want to know the answer. He needed to know the answer.

She studied him for a moment. "Something bad." She finally responded, for once deciding not to give up all the information she had. "Something that'll make Sam wish he could just die. Something he would kill to get away from."

"Kill you?" Dean asked hopefully. "'Cause I can so see Sam's ghost coming back to haunt your ass."

She smiled. "I'll be too powerful by then."

"It's a good plan." Dean acknowledged, feeling suddenly strong. "But it'll never work."

"No?" She raised an eyebrow. "Why's that?"

"Because you're gonna die." His own voice took on an almost mystic quality that he could not identify. He had no idea where this sudden burst of power stemmed from, but he didn't fight it. He knew it came from somewhere good, and it chased away all his defeated feelings.

"You have no idea…" But her sentence was never finished. It hung there, an absent place in time and space, for the rest of eternity. Cut off by the familiar, and in this instance comforting, sound of a gunshot.

In a single, oddly anticlimactic, moment, the demon chick's eyes went wide and turned from evil to…shocked, sad and scared. It was in that moment that Dean realized she was indeed a human being. Capable of human emotions and feelings.

It was in that moment that Dean hated her so much more. Wanted to see her die again and again. Five million deaths wouldn't be enough for this type of pure, _chosen_, human evil.

It was a moment that went on forever. Her final breath, her automatic glance down, the blood oozing out of the bullet wound in her chest. Her glance back up at a still restrained Dean, asking silently how he had done this. How he had killed her.

Dean answered with a satisfied smirk and a knowing look in his eyes. Because even if he didn't know, even if he wasn't sure, he wanted her to die thinking that he was the one responsible.

He broadcast his next thought as loudly as he could, hoping to God that she could hear it.

That's what you get bitch…when you mess with my family.

She gave him one last dying look, one Dean would never be able to identify for sure, but bordered somewhere on a silent plea for forgiveness.

Then the moment was over, and she died, collapsing to the floor in a pathetic heap.

Revealing the person who had fired the shot, the one still holding the smoking gun.

"Dad," Dean rasped. On some level, not believing what he was seeing. On another, he was not surprised in the least.

John Winchester lowered the gun and took a long, hard look at Dean.

"Hey son," he finally managed half a smile, accompanied by a long pause. "Having a bad week?"

His father had always had a twisted sense of humor, one that Dean often found comforting, because it was so much like his own, and he knew how to deal with it. And knew what it really meant. In this instance, his words could have meant a plethora of things.

"You could say that," he mumbled when some of the shock wore off. He shook at his restraints slightly, in a hinting manner, feeling absently embarrassed at his current predicament.

The eldest Winchester crossed the room smoothly, ignoring the body on the ground entirely, all traces of humor gone from his tired face. He had Dean released in a matter of moments.

The younger man slumped slightly again the wall once he was free, rubbing at his painful wrists. He watched as his father crossed the room, once he had given his son a good once over, to heading to the alter that was set up on the other side.

Dean's brain was having a hard time catching up with the events of the last minute and a half.

"What are you doing here?" He found himself asking, while glancing around the basement himself. Searching for where his shirt might be hiding.

John's movements halted for only a moment. It was so slight; Dean could have sworn he imagined it, as his dad was crouched down in front of the locked cabinet moments later.

"I'm saving your life." He informed. "Sam's too. You boys are in over your head with this one."

Dean snorted. "Figured that much out." He mumbled, recalling his identical thoughts on the matter. "But how'd you know…?"

Dean jumped slightly at the sudden noise of his father bursting open the lock on the double doors of the cabinet beneath the alter. A myriad of thick, leather bound books and other various occult type items came into view.

John began flipping through crusty old pages of the books he began pulling off the selves, seemingly at random. It was a few more seconds before his voice filtered through the crinkling of the pages and the clunks of discarded texts on the floor.

"I've been tracking her for a while." He answered factually. "I thought… for a while I thought she might be connected to the thing that killed your mom…"

Dean's head snapped up and he felt suddenly alert. "Is she?"

His father just shook his head. "No, her mother was just another victim of it."

"And it turned the whole family evil." Dean shrugged when John turned to look at him. "I heard the story."

"Well, the story doesn't end there." He said, going back to the task of shuffling through books.

"She has Sam," Dean's voice was suddenly frantic. "Trapped, there's a curse. Dad, I…" He was going to admit his mistake in failing to protect his baby brother, but something stopped him.

His dad didn't notice his son's internal struggle, he just barged in with, "I know about the curse, I know everything. And I know that the counter curse is in one of these books."

"What?" Dean gasped. "How? How…"

"It's a long story Dean, one we don't have time for right now." He snapped. Something in his commanding, almost exasperated, tone, made Dean feel like he was twelve years old again, and being criticized and reprimanded for making a mistake during a crucial part of a hunt.

Finally the older man found what he was looking for in one of the books, just as Dean stumbled across a pile of his things in the corner of the moldy, cellar like basement. Pulling on his t-shirt seconds later, hoping to fight off the remaining chill, he shrugged on the leather as well, ignoring his aching limbs.

"Gotcha," John mumbled, before ripping the page out and turning back towards the alter.

He began to read the words off the page, and all Dean could do was stand there and stare, dumbstruck.

Could it really be that easy? Could the answer to saving Sam really have been lying only mere couple feet away this whole time?

Dean didn't want to believe that was true, but his father's deep voice started to speak the Latin words, there was really no doubt in his mind. He had failed.

* * *

The reading of the counter curse lasted a few minutes. A few solid minutes of John Winchester chanting in hollow, unwavering, old Latin phrases. The Celtic bowl that the demon chick had been using was smashed loudly and with an unrestrained force a few minutes into the chanting. 

The vials of their blood were thrown against the wall, the pictures were burned, and by the time his father had finished taking his arm, and in one fluid motion, knocking every single item of the alter onto the floor, the cabinet looked harmless. Just a cabinet full of old books.

A pile of books that was set on fire just moments later. Dean found himself retreating from the flames subconsciously. He distracted himself from his fear, by wondering if all this destruction had been a necessary part of the ritual, of if his father was just pissed.

"Dad?" Dean called tentatively when the older man stopped speaking. His breathing was shallow and labored, frightening the younger of the two. The fire danced, happily contained, in the background.

It was as if time had stood still in this dank, deteriorating old basement. For a few minutes, after the curse had been spoken, it was as if everything stopped. For a brief moment, nothing else existed.

Then John spoke. "That was it." He mumbled, sounding a bit unsure himself at the simplicity of it. "I broke the curse."

"Are you sure?" They were gambling with Sammy's life, after all.

"No." He spoke factually, but the word made something inside Dean snap.

"No?" He shouted. "No! What the hell do you mean, No! This is Sam! How can you not be sure!"

"Because I've never done this before," his teethe were gritted in an effort to remain calm. "The curse should be broken, but I..."

He trailed off and shook his head, now wasn't the time for this. "Forget it," Dean decided. "Let's just get to Sammy, I think something..."

He had been moving towards the door and on the verge of asking his father for his advice on the hospital situation. He stopped though, when he realized that his father was not following him. "Dad?"

"I have to stay here."

Dean just gaped.

"I have to burn Meg's body." He explained, not meeting his son's eyes.

It was a ridicules reaction, bur Dean couldn't stop himself, it was the only thing he could think of to utter, "Meg?"

John just nodded, and reminded his son. "She was a citizen, registered, had a license. She was human."

"She was evil." Dean countered, and John did not argue the fact.

Meg. Dean examined her lifeless body, still sprawled out on the floor in front of them. Her blood was still spreading. It would reach his feet soon.

Dean turned away from her abruptly, heading instead to a nearby corner to pick his, thankfully undamanaged, cell phone off the floor. They would need this to save Sam.

"So we light her corpse on fire..." He paused, facing his dad again. "The entire damn house while we're at it, and go to Sam."

His father just shook his head. "It's not that simple." He informed him. "I need to find the bodies of her parents. There are spells that have to be done, to reign in her spirit. She's got too much power already. Her soul is going to try and find a way to come back and haunt us. Keep killing."

Okay, Dean admitted to himself, that was a logical thought. "So we'll keep her spirit bound for a while, go get Sam, come back, then we can all do some voodoo, mumbo jumbo... What?" His father was shaking his head again.

"You need to get back to your brother." John said simply.

"No," Dean countered slowly, as if speaking to a small child, or someone incapable of comprehending the most basic of facts. "_We _need to get back to my brother. We need to get back to Sam." This was incredibly simple logic. Why was his father not getting it?

"Dean," John snapped harshly. "I can't come with you. I have to take care of this."

"So, what?" The younger of the two started sarcastically. "You disappear for months, barely contact us at all, make us think you're fucking dead... and when you _finally _show up again, its only for a half a goddamn hour? Just long enough for you to do what you need to do and send me away? We're your sons, remember!"

"I know that!" John shouted, emotions were running high. "I'm doing this to protect you! If I don't get a handle on this situation, you know what's going to happen? Sam's going to die. Then you will. Then I will. Our family could die right now, tonight, if I don't take care of this."

The words were blunt and took Dean's breath away. But the elder man kept going.

"You need to go back to your brother. Protect Sam." And just like that his voice was soft and controlled again. "That's an order."

Dean nodded, an uncomfortable lump forming in his throat, a few silent moments passed before he managed to swallow it. "I...I'll call you. Tell you of the counter thing worked." His voice was more level than it had been in hours.

He felt more composed as well. He didn't agree with what his dad was insisting he do right now. Dean wanted them to stay together, to be a family again, only that wasn't going to happen. But still, following his dad's orders was oddly comforting. Something he'd been doing for as long as he could remember.

"I'll come if you need me." These words also reassured Dean, because he knew the elder man meant them.

The stared at each other for a few long moments. John's eyes were apologetic, he was silently begging his oldest son to understand the decision he was making. Dean's own eyes assured him that, even if he didn't, he would not be holding a grudge about it.

Father knows best.

'I love you, son.' The silent words were exchanged and Dean conveyed the same sentiment. The eldest of the Winchester's did not engage in emotional displays. Body language and non verbal communications had always been enough for them. Always had to be.

A quick nod from Dean, and he turned on his heel, fleeing the prison-like basement. John just watched him go. His sons would take care of each other. Of this he would always be sure.

Dean was outside moments later. All thoughts of anger and disappointment, or anything that he'd been feeling towards his father, were left rightfully in the basement. As soon as the cold night air infiltrated his lungs, all he could think of was getting back to Sammy.

And he prayed to God that he was not too late.

End Chapter.

* * *

Finally, progress! The next chapter will feature Sam's world once the curse is broken, while he's still trapped there. If you're guessing something bad's gonna happen... You're right. And if you thought I was twisted before... 

Anyway, the more you Review, the faster the next installment comes out!


	14. Chapter 14

Title: Blackbird

Author: Oldach's Dream

Summary: Someone or Something is trying to trap Sam within his own mind. Alluring him with the promise of the normal life that he's always wanted. Will Dean be able to save his baby brother before he's gone forever?

Disclaimer: Supernatural defiantly isn't my creation.

Rating: M

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen: **

Jessica was next to Sam, speaking at an accelerated rate. "I was so scared... I couldn't..."

"Hey, it's alright." Sam soothed his frantic girlfriend. Comforting Jessica had always come been a second nature. "I'm here, it's fine, I'm fine. No harm, no foul."

"I didn't..."

"Sammy!" Dean's frantic cry could be heard, Sam was sure, throughout the entire floor. And as his brother was perched in his doorway, it was particularly loud.

"Geez, Dean..." but Sam did not have time to criticize his brother further. The elder man was at his side in an instant, gripping his shoulder firmly, and studying him intently.

"Are you okay?" He was still frantic. "What happened? Why'd..."

He trailed off there because Sam glanced automatically to his girlfriend, who had pulled out of his embrace slightly when Dean had entered the room.

"I didn't tell them." She whispered, looking only at Sam. "I was...I couldn't..."

"It's okay," He soothed again.

Dean was not as calm. "What?" His eyes darted between the two rapidly. "Didn't tell us what? Jessica..."

"She's pregnant." Sam blurted. He knew the shock factor would shut his brother up for a moment. That's how they worked. Long, drawn out conversations were not for them.

He was still partially in shock himself. He was going to be a father. He was...

_This isn't real._

A lump formed in his throat at the thought. He wasn't going to be a father...it was a trap. Dean was coming to save him.

Only Dean was standing in front of him, hand still partially firm on his shoulder. Staring at Sam with a shocked expression that was slowly fading into something unidentifiable, tinged with pride.

"Come again?" Was his only response after a few more endless moments.

"Pregnant." Jess said it this time. "I'm having a baby. I found out...a while ago."

"But she just told me...last night?" Sam confirmed, not really wanting to go into the details of how the pregnancy had been discovered. Dean's curt nod informed him that he had the timing correct. "I guess I just couldn't handle the shock." Sam shrugged.

"Well..." Dean let out a deep breath. "I'll be dammed."

Jessica chuckled a somewhat watery chuckle. "Elegant as ever."

Dean didn't even respond to the barb, his eyes still on his brother. "Wow, Sammy, that's...congrats dude."

Sam shot him a half smile. "Thanks," and he meant it. "I'm still trying to wrap my head around it."

"Understandable." Dean nodded. "Have you thought about telling mom or dad yet? They've both been worried sick, they thought... Well, they thought you were regressing."

"Nah," Sam shook his head and ignored the guilt pooling in the depths of his stomach. "Just…ya know, shock."

"That's…" Dean's head snapped suddenly to Jessica. "Why didn't you tell us sooner? We could have figured out a way to tell Sam that wouldn't have landed him back in the hospital." His voice was firm, but lacking any real anger.

Jessica hung her head. "I thought about it…I guess I just wanted Sam to know first."

"Okay, well I guess that's…"

Dean stopped talking. Just broke off in the middle of the sentence, and when Sam turned away from Jessica to ask him why, he was forced, once again, to do a double take.

Standing where alternate reality Dean had been just moments before, was the scary Dean. The one from the kitchen in his nightmare, or whatever that had been. Sam's double take did not make him fade, and this Dean's hollow eyes kept staring.

"You can't run." He said. There was a long pause, before the evil being raised half its bloody lip into something resembling a snarl.

The evil Dean reached forward and placed a hand over Sam's heart. Immediately the younger man felt the beginnings of pain tug harshly at the organ. He instinctively jerked away from the touch, turning his head to see if Jessica was still there.

His girlfriend was indeed by his side, only she was sporting a concerned gaze, which held unmasked questioning.

Sam turned again to face the Dean that wasn't his brother, to try to explain to Jessica what was going on…but that Dean was gone.

"Sammy?" Concerned alternate reality Dean stood where the evil being had just moments before the nightmarish interruption. "What's going on?"

"You…" Sam blinked rapidly and took a deep breath. The pain was fading, almost gone completely. "You just said…"

"I said you'd have to tell mom and dad tomorrow." The concern did not fade. "Are you alright? I thought…"

Jessica picked up where Dean couldn't. "It was like you blacked out. For a second I thought you were gone again."

"No," Sam shook his head, trying to clear his muddled thoughts away and smiling a convincing fake smile. "I'm fine, I just… I guess I'm a little exhausted."

"That's understandable," Dean chuckled slightly. "We'll let you get some rest now."

Jessica uncurled herself from his side and stood up, looking slightly shaky. "I'll go call your parents, let them know you're awake."

Sam nodded and smiled tightly as she left. Dean stayed where he was, but Sam hadn't honestly expected him to go anywhere. Although, after the…whatever the hell that had been a few moments ago, he had been silently hoping that he would.

But no, Dean just took a seat in the ever-present chair next to Sam's bed, settling himself in, obviously preparing for a long night.

Sam immediately felt his mind drift off into the thousand and one questions he had now, and still. As some had not changed. The most daunting one on the whole list was, what if he was dead in the other world?

"Dean," Sam started before he could stop himself.

"Yeah?" His brother was always on alert.

"If something happens to me…"

"Stop right there." Dean demanded, cutting him off. "Nothing's going to happen to you."

Sam sighed. He didn't know why he felt so inclined to do this, but his…weird vibes; his 'shining' instinct was telling him that he didn't have much time left. Since his psychic freak powers didn't come with a handbook or cliff notes or any sort of instructions, he couldn't tell if these feelings meant Dean would be coming soon, or that he was indeed dying.

Whatever they meant, he could feel that his time was almost up, and as much as he hated to admit it, as weak as it proved he was, as easy to manipulate; he had become attached to this world. He'd come to love this Dean like a version of the brother he had never had. He had reformed his bond with Jessica.

He had met his mother. Finally, after all this time, he had met his mother. He didn't want to let of any of that go . He felt vaguely as if he were an innocent victim, cursed with the knowledge of his impeding death.

"Dean," Sam started again, but sighed away all his frustration. "I know nothing's gonna happen to me." He smirked at the ceiling, not willing to meet his brother's eyes. Dean would be able to read the lies there. "But if it does…"

"Sammy…" he warned again, but it was much less firm.

"No, just listen." And this time he complied. "If something happens to me…I want you to take care of Jessica, and…and the baby, okay?"

"Sam, I…"

"You'll make a great dad, Dean." And for a second they both knew the decision had already been made. A brief, almost bubble-like, moment of clarity. It was faded moments later and neither could place their finger on it again. "You really will."

Dean snorted. "I've never been that great with kids," he reminded, the mood somehow a smidgen lighter.

"You were pretty damn good with me." Sam recalled. Ignoring the fact that he was dredging up memories of his Dean, not this one.

"Well you're my brother," Sam could hear the smirk. "I liked having you around."

"You took care of me." Sam said evenly, he wondered how much his real past and the one from this world clashed. "You were always there when I needed you."

"Until you grew up." And for a solid couple of seconds Sam's thoughts were of Stanford, the asylum, Dr. Kabala, and other flashes of his real past. "You didn't need me. I couldn't…"

"What?" Sam pressed, disregarding his own confused thoughts.

"I couldn't protect you from a psychotic dude with a gun," Dean's chuckle was so hallow, that Sam actually turned his head to make sure that it wasn't crazy Dean again. "You sure you want me taking care of your kid?"

"That wasn't your fault." Sam said firmly. "None of this is."

"Yeah," Dean said. "Maybe not. But I still hate that I can't stop it."

Sam bit his lip. "I know." Then, so low that it could barely be heard. "Me too."

"Go to sleep Sammy." Dean commanded after a few moments. "It'll be better in the morning."

"Yeah." He responded, but didn't believe it for a second.

In the morning, he thought bitterly. Everything could be over.

* * *

Dean was one 'No sir, there's absolutely nothing we can do to help you' away from losing it.

He'd been stuck in a seemingly never-ending traffic jam all fucking morning. His clothes were still bloody from the night before and that blood was acting as a fusion between his clothes and his skin. Memories of his father were still dancing clearly through his mind. The elder man killing Meg, before leaving again.

Leaving Dean to take care of Sam. Leaving Dean to fix his mistake. Something that Dean was failing drastically in is attempts to do.

All his thoughts were muddled and unfocused. He was running on about two days of no sleep - of you didn't count being knocked out. Yet he couldn't let that get to him, he had to...

"Sir, are you still there?" The professional female voice spoke clearly through the other end of his cell phone and Dean was snapped suddenly back to reality.

"Yeah, Yeah I'm here, who are you? Can you help me?" He tried not to let his voice portray panic. No one like t talk to a panicked person.

"My name is Lisa Gibson and I'm Assistant Director in charge of fraudulent crimes at the F.B.I, am I the person you've been trying to reach?"

'Cause God forbid I accidentally waste your time. Dean thought bitterly, but spoke only. "I don't know, I've been trying to talk to someone for about an hour now, no one's been very helpful." And if I wasn't stuck in this car, in a freaking line of cars that forgot how to move, I might actually be doing something helpful right now...

"Can you explain your situation again?" Lisa was speaking patiently, and sounded interested. Perhaps Dean had finally lucked out.

"I've already...ah, never mind." He paused, deciding he had no other choice than to explain _again_ his circumstances. "Look, my brother..." And Dean explained as best he could, and as quickly as he could, abut the situation with Sam. About his condition and leaving him in the care of Dr. Kabala at Grandville's psych ward.

"...the thing is," he continued. "My brother called me and said something bad was going on. I'm on my way back there now, but the traffic won't move and...look, I tried looking up Grandville on the computer, to check it out, you know?" _Not that I should've have done that a week ago, before I dumped Sammy there. _

"And you found something?' She guessed.

"No." Dean spoke the word like an accusation. "I didn't find a thing."

"Well, sir," She spoke calmly. "I'm not sure I understand, if nothing seems to be out of the ordinary with the hospital, perhaps you should just go check on your brother, maybe his condition is worse than the initial diagnosis..."

"No," Dean cut her off. "Sammy's fine. You don't understand. When I say I didn't find a thing, I mean, I didn't find _anything_. According to my research, the hospital doesn't exist."

There was a pause. "Now that can't be right, even the lowest of technology establishments have some sort of internet resource."

"Check for yourself." Dean snapped and moments later heard the clicking of computer keys that indicted she was doing just that.

Dean drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as a way to keep his impatience in check. Blaring the horn and screaming every swearword known to man would not be helpful in this situation.

Still, after a few more silent moments, he could not stand it. "There was a gunshot."

"Pardon?" Lisa sounded distracted.

"A gunshot." He repeated. "When Sam called me. I heard a gun go off in the background."

"Are you sure?"

"I know what a gun sounds like." He snapped, then calmer. "I'm a hunter."

_And I'm gonna hunt and kill that psycho doctor._

The next half an hour had him repeating the name and location of the hospital at least a dozen times. He'd spelled out and described Dr. Kabala just as much. He'd been put on hold, and asked to repeat various parts of his story to at least nine or ten other people.

In all that time, he'd moved maybe half an inch in traffic. He was a few seconds away form taking out a shotgun and...

"Mr. Winchester?" Lisa was back on the line and Dean let his violent thoughts fade.

"Yeah, can you tell me what's going on?" God did that sound familiar.

"Have you ever heard of the black market?"

"Of course." He snapped, how was this relevant? "Who hasn't?"

"Have you ever heard of Hospital frauds?"

"Huh?"

"They're rare, and usually the F.B.I. or the C.I. A. has them tracked down within a few months of operation." She was speaking factually and Dean was hanging onto her every word, the disastrous feeling in the pit of his stomach growing to one of all consuming dread. "On a smaller scale, it's kind of like the old urban legend about the stranger stealing the kidney."

Of course, Dean knew what story she was referring to and he didn't believe what this woman was trying to tell him. "Wait a second." He demanded. "Are you trying to tell me that Dr. Kabala wants to steal my brother's kidney?" Even as he said the words, they sounded ridicules to his own ears.

"No," she said, her tone changing from professional to deeply concentrated, as if she were seated around a campfire telling a ghost story. Which sat fine with Dean; ghost stories were what the Winchester's did best. "I'm saying that sometimes people will set up fake hospitals, entire establishments filled with workers who have no idea what's going on, just to kill patients and sell their organs on the black market."

"Wh-why would anyone..." Dean trailed off; he hadn't been expecting anything near as mind blowing as that.

"Many motives for such crimes have been established." Lisa's tone held understanding sympathy. "People need the money, they get too far over their head with international scams, terrorism plots, satanic cults...and sometimes we run across the mentally disturbed ones who just honestly believe they're doing in for the betterment of mankind."

"How can killing people be for the 'betterment of mankind'?" Dean spat the words angrily.

"If someone believes that the person, or people, they're killing is unfit to be a part of the human race..."

"Wait one Goddamn second." Dean's voice was rising and he could barely keep from full out shouting. "Are you talking about fucking...neo Nazis or something?"

"It could be." She said simply, although it had a sad edge. "As soon as we infiltrate the facility, we'll know for sure."

"When?" Dean latched onto the hope there. "When are you gonna go in there?"

"We have two teams already dispatched and a third and fourth on standby." Professional again, and Dean allowed himself a brief moment of hope. "We'll get Dr. Kabala; you can be assured of that much."

"You just don't know if you'll be able to save my brother." Dean finally realized.

An endless pause, before, "We'll try our best."

Dean clicked his phone shut without warning, and tossing it to the side. He bit his lip and hesitated for only a second. Before revving the engine of his classic, reliable old car and pulling, in a huff of smoke, into the emergency lane blissfully close to his left hand side.

He took off at the speed intended to be traveled on a highway, disregarding the angry protests of the drivers around him. He figured it wouldn't be long before cops would be chasing after him, but he didn't care. Couldn't bring himself to even pretend to.

He had left his brother alone and defenseless against a fucking neo-nazi - or someone as equally psychotic - who was planning on killing him so he could sell his body parts. The thought of that was enough to make his stomach churn and rebel against him.

He ignored the queasy feelings though, feeling as if they were a small price to pay for having been such a shitty big brother. And, for the moment, all that mattered was getting back to his little brother.

He stepped on the gas, speed limit be damned, and watched as the speedometer climbed to eighty, then eighty-five, and on, until finally, he didn't feel so helpless.

End Chapter.


	15. Chapter 15

Title: Blackbird

Author: Oldach's Dream

Summary: Someone or Something is trying to trap Sam within his own mind. Alluring him with the promise of the normal life that he's always wanted. Will Dean be able to save his baby brother before he's gone forever?

Disclaimer: Supernatural defiantly isn't my creation.

Rating: M

A/N: Well, I kinda got back into the spirit of it with this chapter. On the bright side, that means that this chapter is long and detailed and probably the best one that I've written in a while. On the downside, this continues to drag out for _much _longer that I initially expected. I won't even try to give an estimate on how many more chapters there are to go, because It'd probably end up being a lie. But if this is dragging too much, let me know, and I'll try to shorten it up. I continue to write this for the people interested, so just...let me know: )

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen**

The next morning Sam was released from the hospital and allowed to go home with his normal family once again. He hadn't let himself fall asleep the night before, fear of returning to a world where he might indeed be dead crashing down upon him every time he closed his eyes.

He had felt, in a vague sense, that something had changed over the remainder of last night. He couldn't pinpoint exactly what - if anything - he was trying to describe, but after his talk with Dean, something had been different.

Maybe it had something to do with him seeing the creepy, demonic-like image of his big brother the night previous. Although Sam had tried his hardest to convince himself that that had been imagined.

"You okay, son?" John questioned as the whole family made their way back into the safety and comfort of their Kansas home.

"Yeah," Sam shook his head to clear it. "I'm fine."

"Really?" Mary questioned. "'Cause that didn't really look like a 'fine' face."

Sam sighed, he'd come to love his mother's dry sarcasm, and impenetrable stubborn streak.

"Don't argue, dude." Dean said from behind him, knocking his shoulder lightly as he passed. "Mom knows best."

"Hey," John barked a protest. "I thought it was _father _knows best."

"That too." Dean yelled back, he was already halfway to the kitchen.

Jess approached him next, grabbing onto his shoulders lightly and kissing him chastely. "I'll be upstairs if you need me." She shared some kind of meaningful look with the elder Winchester's before making her way up the stairs as promised.

Sam crinkled his nose in confusion, before turning to follow her.

"Hang on, Sammy." Mary called lightly and Sam turned immediately to face her. "Let's take a seat, shall we?" She gestured towards the living room that his father was already making his way into.

"Uh...sure."

Moments later saw Sam sitting on an armchair across form his parents, who were seated side by side on the sofa. They were both staring at Sam intently and the youngest Winchester didn't know whose eyes to focus on. Something about the moment - him alone with both his parents - it felt surreal.

And he forgot again that he was trapped in a fake world.

"What's up, guys?" He tried to ask lightly, but his concern shone through.

"I had an interesting chat with your brother this morning," Mary started and Sam's eyes immediately darted in the direction of the kitchen. He was going to kill his older brother if he did what Sam thought he did. "Yeah," his mom answered his unasked question. "He told us about Jessica."

"Little..." Sam's mutterings were cut off quickly by his father.

"Don't blame Dean, son. Your mom grilled him pretty hard." He was smirking, and by the time Sam turned back and faced his mom's guilty expression, he was as well.

"Well..." Sam started.

"I know you don't really remember." John said. "But your mom can be pretty tough when she's concerned."

"And your little passing out stunt last night had me pretty damn concerned, tiger." She smiled sweetly. "I might have taken it out on your brother."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you." He hated the thought of causing her any sort of unnecessary distress. "I was going to, me and Jess were going to, but everything just happened so fast, and we really didn't have time to talk, and..."

"Breathe kiddo." John smirked lightly. "We understand."

"You do?" Sam asked hopefully, looking only at his mother.

"Yeah," she answered. "Honey, you found out you're going to be a father. That's huge."

"Yeah..." thoughts clouded his mind, but he couldn't pick out just one. He felt only an assortment of nerves and fears eating away at him.

"I'm proud of you, Sammy." His mother's eyes were filled with truth and understanding and Sam gulped, tears forming again. God, he hated feeling like this. He hated knowing that this wasn't real, that he'd have to give it all back. And soon.

"You are?" He had to ask.

She looked conflicted for a moment, before standing and taking a seat next to her youngest son. She put an arm around his shoulders and Sam looked into her eyes. They were real, and shining with adoration.

"I love you, Sammy." She stated firmly and he wondered how she had known that he had wanted to hear that. "This whole family loves you, even if you can't remember it right now."

A brief glance at his father found that he was nodding as well, nothing but truth and love radiating from him. God damn it, why couldn't this be real?

"And we love Jessica too," she continued. "And no matter what happens, that's always going to be true."

"Mom..." he broke off, sounding questioning. Why did it sound like she was saying goodbye?

"We love you Sammy. Your son will love you, too. You'll be a great father. Just like your dad." Her words were still true, but something had changed.

A shift had occurred, and Sam was only vaguely aware of it. It was sort of like a fly buzzing around the room. He knew it was there, could hear and feel its presence, but there was no way to pinpoint exactly _where._

Sam's gaze drifted over to his father, and was almost not surprised to see that he was no longer there. Something was starting, and Sam could do nothing but take it in stride. Even if it felt like something inside of him was being torn apart, destroyed painfully.

He looked back to his mom, but he could already feel that the weight and the warmth of her arm around his shoulder was gone. But she wasn't, not completely.

She was standing in front of him now, only it wasn't her anymore. It was her spirit, the same one that he and Dean had faced in the real world.

That image was standing in front of him now.

"I'm sorry." She spoke simply, the same words as before.

He couldn't move. "For what?" He didn't expect a response.

But he got one. "For leaving you. For leaving your brother."

"That wasn't your fault." And it wasn't.

"Sammy," she began again. "Something's been done to you, this world, it isn't yours."

"I know..." this was all happening too fast. Just a moment ago she'd been real, talking of normal things and happy futures, but now she was dead again. A ghost. Not even a ghost; a faded memory.

And Sam just wanted his mom back.

"You're going to have to choose Sam." She warned. "And you can't stay here; you'll die if you do."

"But, you and dad, Dean...Jess." He was stricken, unprepared for letting go again.

"We're not real. This isn't real. It's not an option Sam. You can't stay."

"But I want..."

"Dean will die if you stay here Sam." She spoke firmly. "You have to protect your brother. You have to forgive him."

And Sam was going to ask for what, but he already knew. Whether the knowledge was his own, or had been planted in his mind by some sort of supernatural means he didn't know. And never would. But he wasn't overly concerned with it.

He knew she meant forgiving Dean for leaving. But she didn't understand, he had no right to be angry and hurt, or feel betrayed at that...Sam had done exactly the same thing. Sam had done it first.

"My sons..." his mother's ghost whispered, reaching out a transparent hand. "You have so much to work through, so many problems."

"We'll be okay." Sam found himself assuring her.

"I know." She whispered, and then her image was gone. Disappeared as fast as it materialized.

Sam hated that. The way things could just...cease to exist in this world. But he felt his emotions on the information lacking. He felt his emotions in general lacking, something was happening. Changing.

He got up without thought and headed for the staircase. He was going to see Jessica. Had to, at least one last time.

* * *

Dean had broken the law in various ways throughout the course of his lifetime. He'd interfered with many police investigations, tampered with evidence and withheld information. But never, in his twenty-two years of fighting evil and lying about it, had he barged into an ongoing F.B.I. raid.

And only now did he understand why it was considered such a bad idea, and impossible to do. Police in small towns, and even slightly larger ones, were easily fooled and happy to look in the other direction. To just not pay attention.

Even national government security was not known, in Dean's opinion, for their quick thinking, when the situation was not immediately life threatening.

But something about those uniforms, those navy blue windbreakers with F.B.I. printed in large yellow letters, turned the normally dull-witted and easily fooled officials, into defensive, gun-wielding, commanding, authorative jack-asses.

At least, that was Dean's opinion at the moment.

"My brother's in there!" He shouted, again, to the unfeeling bodyguard they had settled in front of the hot-tempered Winchester.

"My orders are to keep all civilians out." He barked, again, and Dean was starting to realize, understand and sympathize, with Sam's hatred of being given orders.

"I'm hardly a civilian." Dean snapped. "I've been killing evil things since before you learned how to wipe your own ass!"

Something like embarrassed anger flashed over his features - this man stood about half a head taller than Sam, and _that _was saying something - but Dean did not fear him. Dean actually kind of wanted to squash him like a bug, but found that hard to do with absolutely no weapons.

"Do you have any ID?" He asked in the level, mechanic voice.

Dean sighed angrily and stalked away without responding. Heading instead to the group of F.B.I. officials who had greeted him -with much shock - when he had arrived at Grandville about half an hour ago.

He'd showed up with a police escort who, after pulling him over for speeding in the emergency lane, for some reason, did not believe his story when he told him that he had to get to the fake hospital that was holding his brother hostage and threatening to kill him.

That moron had been shocked to find out that Dean's story was true. But who was he to argue with the feds? Dean never did see what happened to that guy, but didn't really care, as he had been preoccupied. Spending the last thirty seven minutes trying his absolute hardest to get into the hospital.

He'd already heard gunshots fired, but no one had emerged, and fear was eating away at Dean. If there was one thing he was not good at, it was waiting.

The group of people he had approached were gathered around the back of a van. A van equipped with more technical equipment than Dean could even pretend to know how to navigate.

Lisa Gibson was the only member of the entire group who was at all willing to speak to Dean, and the only thing she could give him was the information that this was a static situation. Meaning that there was some immediate threat preventing her officers from removing any of the patients.

No one could enter the building until the threat was clear, and there was nothing Dean could do.

"But Sammy," he had pleaded, meeting her bright blue eyes and begging her to understand. "He might be hurt..."

"Your brother will be taken care of by trained paramedics as soon as the situation is cleared of all immediate threats."

"But he's my responsibility."

"I'm sorry sir," she switched back to professional. "But there's nothing we can do right now except wait."

* * *

Sam climbed the stairs with dread eating away at the lining of his stomach. His father had disappeared, Mary had turned back into a ghost before disappearing, as far as he could tell, Dean had simply vanished...what was going to happen with Jessica?

He entered his childhood bedroom, and was immediately breathless. Almost knocked out with the force of what he was seeing.

It wasn't his bedroom anymore. Or more accurately, it was his bedroom..._again_.

A single, half-burned crib sat in the center of the room. Scorch marks marred everything. He could smell the smoke; feel the death in the air.

He couldn't bring himself to look up, but he was standing in the center of the doorway, so his peripheral vision did it for him. There was a mark above his crib as black as could be. Just a solid black hole. Sam thought briefly that it could be nothing. It could suck him away and it wouldn't be surprising.

A sudden noise sounded and he turned his head instinctively in that direction, and he found himself standing directly in front of a little kid. A boy no older than six.

It took Sam only a second to recognize him.

"Dean?" He questioned. This hadn't been what he'd been expecting when he started his trek upstairs, not by a long shot, but somehow he wasn't surprised. Everything was shifting. He was just along for the ride.

Six-year-old Dean raised a finger to his lips and made a shushing sound. "Be quiet, or you'll wake up my brother." He said it guardedly, and with protection evident in his tone. "He's finally sleeping."

"Where?" Sam heard himself asking. He was plying a part now; he was part of a dream.

The little version of his older brother just gestured for Sam to follow him, before taking off in the other direction. Sam followed him across the hall, and straight into the other bedroom.

Only when he entered that one, it wasn't Dean's childhood room anymore, it was another tiny bedroom that Sam had never seen before. But it didn't seem to be touched by the fire and Sam thought maybe that it was from a place they had stayed right after their mom had died, all those years ago.

When John was still grieving and the brothers had fended for themselves most of the time. When Dean's protective streak had taken off - because the night of the fire was only the beginning - and Sam had learned to trust Dean like a guardian. A protector.

It would explain why little Dean was now curled up in the tiny bed with another small child - assumedly and three-year-old Sam - hidden beneath the covers.

"Sammy gets scared at night." The small figure of Dean informed him while resting his hand protectively on the smaller child's blonde locks. "I stay with him."

"You're a really good big brother." Sam told him, and remembered suddenly how true it was. "Sammy needs you." And for some reason, he didn't feel odd speaking about himself in the third person. He knew he should...but Sammy was the little child curled up with his big brother.

Sam was the adult forced into remembrance.

"I know he does." Little Dean said factually. "He misses mommy. I miss mommy too, but Sammy cries all night because he misses her so bad. He only doesn't cry when I'm with him. He knows I can take care of him."

The tears couldn't be kept away. His speaking was so factual. This was his big brother. This was how Dean thought as a child. "You protect him." He said. "You always will."

"Even against all the bad things that daddy says are out there? Even against the thing that stole mommy?" Suddenly the small child was insecure. Asking Sam to tell him something. To assure him.

Sam did. "Yeah," he watched the six-year-old scoot closer to Sammy. "You'll protect him. You never stop."

Sam and Dean shared look, a searching, needy, pleading look. In which the young child desperately wanted to believe that what Sam was telling him was the truth. And Sam pleaded silently for the honesty of his words to be genuine. Forever.

Sammy slept on. Oblivious to the world around him. Innocent.

"They're perfect." Jessica's voice sounded from the doorway and when Sam turned to look at her, he could make out the hallway of the Winchester's Kansas house behind her.

He turned back to the little boys, and was still in the different bedroom. Two worlds, coinciding so peacefully.

Little Sam and Dean were now lying down together, the time for talking with that Dean was done now, Sam knew. But he couldn't help but stay mesmerized at how his eyes remained open, seemingly unblinking. Just watching the adults.

Protecting Sammy.

"Our sons will be just like them." Jessica's voice brought Sam back to her again. Only this time, when he turned his head, the whole world changed with it.

He and Jessica were standing now in a different room. This one Sam didn't recognize at all. But when he stopped thinking and tried to feel the emotion behind it - because it was getting easier to do that, and harder and harder to form real thoughts -he got a sense of _almost _coating the place.

He couldn't think beyond that. Just..._almost_.

It was a bright sunroom. With multicolored windows on every wall. Sam stared at Jessica, who was simply smiling brightly, before looking around.

There were three little boys in the center of the room. All playing together in harmony, their voices and the sounds of their toys seemed to be muffled, but he didn't think it odd in this scenario. Sam didn't recognize these children as he'd recognized little Dean, but he saw the familiarity there.

As he stepped away from Jessica and moved closer to them, crouching down only a few feet away, he knew immediately who they were. He could feel only slightly glad that they didn't seem able to see him.

The littlest one - quite obviously the youngest - was no older than three. He sat in a protective space between the other two. Sam didn't see him as a whole, not right away. He just saw Jessica's eyes, Dean's nose and his own shaggy hair and long forehead. Together on this child, on _his _child.

He knew instantly that this little boy's name was Alex. Alex was his youngest son. His two older brothers were Shawn and Brian. Shawn was the oldest, named after Jessica's father.

That boy, who was nine-years-old, sat the tallest. His eyes darted around the room protectively. This son looked the most like Dean. Appropriate, as they shared the same role. He had only one thing of his parents at all, and that was Jessica's light hair color.

The middle son, Brian, Sam could tell just by looking at him that he felt like, and sometimes was, the odd one out. At the mere age of five, he already felt the strain of being the middle child.

Brian looked most like Sam, had almost nothing physical of Jessica, but had a touch of John in his serious disposition.

Sam's vision blurred and he saw it all, he saw their entire futures, knew it without having to ask. It was just there, as simple and as easy to find as his own name. His own memories.

Alex would spend his entire life trying to live up his brothers, trying to fit in with them. But he was gifted with Sam's intelligence, and despite all the teasing he would receive from the two elder boys, he'd spend almost nineteen years in school, studying to be a doctor, and fulfilling his dream of opening a small private practice right outside Lawrence. A family doctor.

Shawn and Alex would have a falling-out at in their late teens and early adulthoods respectively, the details behind which were so insignificant that neither can even remember them, and they won't speak for almost five years. Until one day the older man shows up on Alex's doorstep, half dead, and getting worse, from a drug overdose. A problem that no one had known about.

Alex will not turn Shawn away. He'd inherited a family loyalty from his Uncle so strong, that nothing could have stopped him from helping his brother when he'd asked for it so desperately.

The two brothers would bond together to help one another. Shawn would make a full recovery, and discover, while living with Alex, that the real reason the youngest child had always felt so out of place with his brothers was because he was gay. And had been battling with that since his early teenage years.

Shawn, after some initial shock, would accept Alex for who he is. They'd live comfortably together in Alex's three bedroom house until Shawn's marriage almost four years later, to an incredibly fierce and strong woman he had met in rehab. Living with them, after much argument, would be a recently divorced Brian.

Sam's middle son would have his heart ripped out by his wife, who will cheat on him with one of his best friends. And his Uncle Dean, after hearing this, will say - 'At least it wasn't one of your brothers.' - And Brian will appreciate his Uncle's simple, yet profound outlook on the situation.

Brian will move, with his young daughter, out of California and back to Lawrence, to share a house with Shawn and Alex. He'll hear Alex nervously confess his sexuality and will respond by laughing aloud and declaring, 'I knew it!' And after the initial shock, all the brothers will laugh, because they are together again and everything is okay.

Brian's daughter - Mary, named after her deceased great-grandma - will grow up happy and healthy. If not with a slightly skewed outlook on life. She will, after all, be raised in a house of three men. With many visits from her grandparents and Great Uncle and cousins.

Dean will have two sons of his own and there will be constant jokes about the generation's inability to father any other gender. Dean's sons, because of when they were born, will be closer to Mary's age, and will always be like older brothers to her.

Dean will never marry his life-long girlfriend, but no one really expected him too. Both members of that relationship will hate the idea of marriage, but will stay together forever nonetheless.

Jessica will die at the age of eighty-three, followed, seven months later, by Sam. Dean will die approximately a year before his brother and sister-in-law. But his girlfriend will age just a few years shy of a hundred. No one expected Dean to out live Sam. Everyone knew there would be no way he'd be able to deal with his brother's death.

And Sam followed Jessica much as John had followed his wife. Life spans reaching well into the nineties for both matriarchs of the clan. The Winchester's were a family full of people who loved life, that much was obvious.

"What do you see?" Jessica's voice ripped Sam away from his vision, and made him realize for the first time that that's what it had been. He had envisioned his family's future. His sons...

Were still playing happily on the floor in front of him. Still little children.

"Everything," his whispered breath answered Jess. "I see everything."

"Sam." She spoke solidly, and suddenly Sam's fear was overwhelming. He was torn away from the leftover thoughts and images of his family and was back in the present completely.

He didn't turn to face her, but he stood up. The three little boys vanished as he did so, but he could feel no shock. Just unbearable loss. Indefinable grief. He wanted them back. He wanted to see his sons again.

He knew at the same time, though, that something else was happening. A threat was forming.

"Sam," Jess spoke again, and her voice was detached, eerie. It reminded him of possessed Dean, the monster impersonating his brother. Only now, it was Jessica.

"Turn around." She demanded in that same, cold tone.

Sam didn't want to obey, but he couldn't really stop himself. His whole world had become some bizarre plot line, and he was just a mindless puppet being forced to follow the script. Only he could feel it too.

All he could do was feel the emotions now. He could barely act of his own accord.

And when he turned to face Jessica, his emotions told him to run and scream at what he saw, to act on his fright and horror. But he was trapped, he had the power to do nothing but stare, and wait.

End Chapter.

* * *

Opinions? 


	16. Chapter 16

Title: Blackbird

Author: Oldach's Dream

Summary: Someone or Something is trying to trap Sam within his own mind. Alluring him with the promise of the normal life that he's always wanted. Will Dean be able to save his baby brother before he's gone forever?

Disclaimer: Supernatural defiantly isn't my creation.

Rating: M

* * *

_Last time: _

_"Sam," Jess spoke again, and her voice was detached, eerie. It reminded him of possessed Dean, the monster impersonating his brother. Only now, it was Jessica._

"_Turn around." She demanded in that same, cold tone._

_Sam didn't want to obey, but he couldn't really stop himself. His whole world had become some bizarre plot line, and he was just a mindless puppet being forced to follow the script. _

_Only he could feel it too._

_All he could do was feel the emotions now. He could barely act of his own accord._

_And when he turned to face Jessica, his emotions told him to run and scream at what he saw, to act on his fright and horror. But he was trapped, he had the power to do nothing but stare, and wait._

* * *

Chapter Sixteen:

Jessica was still Jessica.

. And if he ignored the demonic voice and the giant, gaping, bleeding slit in her stomach, it would be as normal as could be.

Normal. Sam thought absently. This world was supposed to be normal.

What a load of shit.

"Look at me Sam." The tone of her voice had not changed, and Sam didn't fight away his frightened feelings, he just didn't act on them. Couldn't act on them.

He followed her command and forced his eyes to meet hers. The orbs were black, as if decaying from deprivation; Jessica was being deprived of her soul.

"You did this Sam," and suddenly he was trapped in the hollow depths of his nightmares, watching the love of his young life gesture angrily to her bleeding stomach. "You killed me. And you don't even care."

Sam shook his head and attempted to defend himself. "I do...I'm so sorry. More sorry than you'll ever know."

His words were almost as lackluster as hers, but it wasn't from lack of emotion. It was simply from a lack of existing, it was getting harder and harder to focus on any one thing. Jessica was in front of him, looking at him through those black eyes, but she was all around him too.

Her laugh, her smell, the feel of her arms around his neck...her love, her hate, her distrust, her accusation - all of it was surrounding him. Comforting him, threatening to suffocate him.

"Its okay, Sammy." Her voice echoed around everything. He couldn't even tell where he was standing anymore - if he was standing at all. "All you have to do is trust me."

And suddenly, she wasn't Jessica anymore.

* * *

All hell had broken loose.

And Dean was right in the center of it.

Men like Dr. Kabala - men who've spent dozens of years and millions of dollars perfecting their illegal practices - don't go down without a fight. Men like Dr. Kabala - insane men with sociopathic tendencies and a large gun collection - don't go down without taking as many other people with them as possible.

So far, that list of people spanned three F.B.I. agents and four patients, and Dean was not about to just stand around and let those numbers skyrocket even higher.

He was capable of helping - and he damn well intended to.

Not to mention, when Dr. Kabala and a few of his insane sidekicks started firing outside, right into the waiting wall of government officials - everyone had become a bit scattered, and the hunter inside if him was not beyond taking advantage of that.

People were grabbing guns, firing back, rushing in, arresting, shooting, warning, screaming, dying...all hell had broken loose.

Dean felt his nerve endings tingle with something akin to excited, nervous anxiousness as he skillfully stalked down the abandoned hospital hallway.

This wasn't just another hunt, and he didn't try to fool himself into thinking that it was for a second, this was his baby brother's life that was on the line. This was a human that he was hunting.

That he was prepared to kill.

And as he kept creeping down the empty hall - loaded gun in hand - ignoring the shouts and gunshots echoing from other parts of the building, his mind was completely blank. All thoughts of revenge or guilt or hope, or anything else, were nothing but a distant memory.

He'd have time for thoughts like that once Sam was okay. Once this was all over.

Turning down yet another hallway, he stopped and listened. Most of the building had been evacuated as soon as the chaos had begun. People sporting doctor scrubs and handcuffs, patients on gurneys, and in body bags.

Dean had remained outside for a few minutes. He had taken a good look at every single human being who had been removed from the building. Even checked the body bags with his breath held - but none had been Sam.

He had taken off into the building while the remaining members of the F.B.I. had tended to their wounds and waited for backup. He had prowled through two and a half floors of this place so far, he'd run into people who knew that he shouldn't be there, but he disregarded them, and they did the same. They knew he was there to help, and in moments of extreme danger like they were facing, that was all that mattered.

Now, finally, he thought that he had found what he was looking for. Or what someone was looking for, anyway. He moved slower, before finally stopping outside the door where the noise was coming from.

Dean's heart was beating - annoyingly loud - in his chest as he listened.

"You can't run. You can't hide. We're all waiting. All inside."

Quite possibly the most insanely disturbing melody that he had ever heard drifted through the small crack the open door provided. Dean's face scrunched in an effort to concentrate and he took a step towards the doorway, now as close as he could be without giving himself away.

The singing and humming continued, broken occasionally by words and phrases.

"It's gonna be okay," he finally said at a solid tone, and Dean was convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that this was indeed Dr. Kabala.

The fucking psychopathic neo-nazi from hell.

The words, "I told you there was a greater purpose, Sam." drifted through the hall and Dean's blood boiled. All his rage finally reached the surface.

Everything that he had been suppressing for the last week, all his anger towards himself, towards the demonic chick - Meg - who had caused all this in the first place, Dr. Kabala and his sick, twisted games, towards his father for not sticking around and helping him; all mixed with the adrenaline of not sleeping for days and finally holding a gun again, of being in control.

Everything finally boiled over, and he didn't even stop to take a breath before stepping back and kicking the door open, so hard that it cracked.

It was fucking show time.

* * *

"Trust me, Sammy." He turned his head, and felt like he was doing so under water, but when he managed to focus again - if only marginally - it wasn't Jessica that was surrounding him anymore - it was Dean.

"Dean?" Sam called out. He couldn't see his big brother; he couldn't see anything anymore.

Everything around him, everything physical, was dark - like a black hole had sucked him into the depths of some other dimension.

But the feelings - the knowledge and sounds - that surrounded him, they created an existence all their own. Sam wasn't focusing on the immediate darkness - he couldn't - he paid attention to everything else.

Now, of Dean's voice all around him, echoing in surround sound.

"You can't run. You can't hide. We're all waiting. All inside." The demonic tone was back, and Sam's memory provided him with snapshots of the nightmare Dean in the kitchen.

How was he supposed to trust that?

"Dean..." Sam tried again, although he didn't really feel like he was speaking. He had a thought that he wanted vocalized...the rest was done by something else. Some other force on the outskirts of his consciousness. "Dean, help me, you have to help me..."

But before the words were even completely out, the demonic voice was sounding again.

"It's gonna be okay."

Sam wanted to believe him, wanted to trust his brother. But this was a demon, or a vision, or a nightmare...it was something that wasn't Dean - and he didn't trust it for a second.

Then the pain came.

If he wasn't sure before - he was now. Everything came back into focus slightly, stopped being distant - and he was indeed still solid. Still human.

Still capable of feeling.

He yelled out in shock, and his hands went immediately to his side, they were covered in blood just moments later. He looked down, saw the rip in his shirt - growing steadily and seemingly coming from nothing. As the rip grew, so did the wound.

His flesh was being torn apart - and he could feel every single, goddamn second of it. When he managed to lift his shirt away from the growing flesh wound, he could see it better; it seemed even intensified in this place.

This, half reality place, that he had been knocked into somehow. The blood was thicker; a brighter shade of red, the line was being drawn straight through his side, evenly, as if done by a professional...a doctor.

His mind tried desperately to latch onto that thought, knowing it was important, but not understanding why.

Then Dean spoke again, "I told you there was a greater purpose, Sam."

There was nothing of his big brother in the tone - other than it was actually his - and Sam was about to tell the fucking demon to give it up, because he knew his real brother would never hurt him.

Then there was a loud cracking sound, almost like a gunshot, only softer.

The wound on his side stopped growing and Sam felt vaguely like something cold and metallic was being pulled out of it. His hands remained, covering it and stopping the blood flow, but now that the immediate pain was gone, he drifted away from it.

He was focused instead on the sounds that were surrounding him. He could hear them clearly now - one was his brother, his real brother. The protector, not the demon - and one _was _the demon. Only now, the demon had a name.

And Dr. Kabala's voice wasn't there for long.

* * *

The doctor jumped away from Sam when the door swung open, he obviously hadn't been expecting an interruption.

"Dean," he spoke in a sickening delighted tone, regaining his grip on the situation almost immediately. "How good to see you again."

The eldest Winchester raised his gun level with this guy's head. "Go fuck yourself." He responded evenly.

"That's not very..."

"Shut up." Dean snapped. No more games. "What in the hell are you doing to my brother?" He had seen the scalpel in his hand as soon as the door was out of the way. Only now did he notice the blood.

Sam was lying - still as dead - on an operating table. Bleeding.

Dr. Kabala just smiled. "I'm keeping your brother alive, for your information. Whatever's being done to him - it's keeping him from waking up - I think it might be killing him."

Dean risked another look at Sam; seeing the gaping wound through his side, and swallowed his nausea at the thought of Sam being cut open like that without any anesthesia. What if he could feel it? Meg's curse, after all, had been broken.

He felt helpless at not knowing what was going on in Sam's head, how much pain he was really in.

But he did know one thing for sure. He knew that this...human psychopath was defiantly part of the problem.

"This is all one big fucking game to you, isn't it?" Dean spoke levelly. "A business."

"I do what I do for the betterment of mankind." Dr. Kabala's tone was firm - a scolding adult - he was trying to teach a lesson.

"Killing people, _murdering_ them, that's for the betterment of man kind? That's _helpful_?" Dean was amazingly clam, his decision, after all, had already been made.

Dr. Kabala sighed. "People like your brother, people with these sorts of mental problems, they're a burden on society. They should all be eliminated anyway, if there's ever going to be any hope of creating a society worth living in. It's called race purification."

"Yeah," Dean tossed his words casually. "I think that was Hitler's view on the world. Look what happened to him."

Dr. Kabala chuckled. "My dear boy, I don't even pretend to be as great of a man as Hitler. I just try my best to make these deaths mean something. The burdens of society should have some grater purpose. What's more meaningful than donating their wasted organs to people who actually deserve to live?"

Dean looked at him them, face blank, staring at the expectant expression of the man standing in front of him. This guy really, honestly, _believed _that what he was doing was for the good of the world. He thought he was helping.

"You're one twisted mother fucker, you know that?"

Dr. Kabala's face changed, and Dean was sure he would have said something more to defend his reasons. To convince Dean that his cause was worthwhile and true.

That perhaps, that honest and unwavering dedication to something so horrible, that he believed in so passionately, was what stopped Dean from hesitating in his next movements.

The gun was already level - all Dean had to do was pull the trigger.

And he did.

The bullet went straight through the fucker's heart, and for a brief, somewhat illogical, moment, Dean was scared that it wouldn't work. How could you shoot that didn't have a heart, and expect it to die?

But after Dr. Kabala collapsed to the ground - eyes still opened, displaying disbelief clearly - Dean knew that he had done it. He had killed a man. Another living, breathing, human being, was now dead, no longer living and breathing, because Dean had pulled the trigger.

Never before, in twenty some years of hunting, had that happened. And never did he think that he would be able to kill someone and feel absolutely no guilt over it, whatsoever.

Because all that he felt right now - after firing a gun and watching Kabala die instantly - was a fierce desire to run to his brother's side and get him as far away from this place as absoleulty possible.

So that's exactly what he did.

* * *

Sam heard all the words - the entire exchange.

His brother had killed Dr. Kabala. While that information was there, it was his and he knew it, it was also lost. Somewhere in this dimension that was slowly becoming more and more real.

At least, he felt more pain. His right arm throbbed, his side was still bleeding, his headache was a close rival to the one he had first had when he arrived in the other world, and his grip on reality was frighteningly steady.

He knew exactly what was going on, he could look back on everything and pinpoint what had been caused by what - he could recall it all - he just couldn't make himself move properly in the moment, all he could do with any certainty was think.

He could feel himself being moved - but by whom or to where he didn't know - so he did his best to resist. In his little dimensional world, he thrashed about as much as he could, but it was still so black, so unreal, he didn't even know if he was moving.

He could feel himself in only the vaguest of ways - he knew he was there, so he tried to move. He knew he existed, so he felt the pain of his injuries. But it was all just second hand knowledge - he was still surrounded by the darkness.

Fear. He thought dully. I'm scared.

"Sam," Dean's voice was softer than it had been before, different, lower and closer to him. Sam listened - he finally trusted that this was his brother. It was ending. "You gotta calm down, buddy, okay? Let me get you outta here, Sam. Relax."

Sam did as he was told and stopped resisting. He focused again on the feelings around him.

He knew he was panicked and confused - it was all around him in this place - he just couldn't feel it _inside _himself. He knew he wanted his brother; he wanted to go back to Jessica. The real version of her. The one he loved and would do anything for.

He knew of his wants - his crushing desires to go back to his mom and his normal family. He knew that he couldn't, that he was back with Dean. He knew he wanted to open his eyes and tell his brother that he wasn't mad. But Dean seemed so far away, cracking an eyelid seemed an impossibly difficult thing to do - it would take him so far away.

"I'm here, Sammy." Dean's voice echoed again, and Sam thought maybe that he hadn't stopped struggling. "Sam, listen to me." His tone was firm and Sam didn't want to hear it - didn't want to go back - didn't want to be taken away again.

The knowledge of everything, every fear and insecurity, every belief and disbeleif, every fight... It was all around him, and he didn't want to listen. He just wanted to get lost.

Yet he had very little choice in the matter. "Sammy," Dean repeated, "It's over. It's all over. You're safe, I'm here and you're safe. We're gonna give you something, Sammy. Real medicine. It's gonna knock you out completly, don't fight it, okay? When you wake up, it's be okay again. Everything will be okay."

Sam wanted to ask him what 'okay' meant. He wanted to know what was happening to him, but he seemingly lost all ability to connect physically to the real world, because moments later he felt something change, and he knew Dean had acted without his consent.

Then everything was falling away. All the pain, the tabgible darkness...it was all falling away. Only he was falling with it. It was finally over, finally completly gone.

His mind couldn't take in much more than that. The knowledge of relief came to him...but then he knew no more, and time was gone.

* * *

Dean had Sam airlifted by an F.B.I. helicopter, to a hospital almost a thousand miles away from Grandville. It was the farthest the doctor said it was safe to take him, and Dean still thought it was too close to the place that had almost killed his kid brother.

But New York was pretty freaking far away, and that was the best he could right now.

Sam had been knocked out on the helicopter ride over, the trip had taken the better part of forty-five minutes, and Sam was still unconscious.

They had landed on the roof, and Dean had taken all of thirty seconds to examine the pristine snow - looking deceivingly peaceful - covering everything around them, before focusing on Sam's movement to the top floor of the hospital.

Sam still hadn't woken up.

He'd been given his own room -compliments of the government. The same government who had ruled Dean's murdering Dr. Kabala as self-defence and assured him that he could take care of the official paperwork and court dealings once his brother was recovered.

Dean had barely acknowledged Lisa Gibson when she informed him of this, he'd simply held on tightly to Sam's hand and told the paramedic that as long as none of Sam's injuries were life threatening - and they weren't - that he didn't care how long it took, just get them far, far away from there.

It was two days later, and Sam still hadn't woken up, which the doctor's said was normal - to be expected - from the amount of trauma he'd been through. They'd assumed that his coma-like state was the result of something Dr.Kabala had done.

And since Dean really couldn't say, 'Oh no, it was the crazy, demonic hell bitch that did that part.' he let them believe that. After all, what diffrence did it really make?

Sam was still unconscious, facing God knows what in his mind, and there was nothing anyone could do. Except wait for him to wake up in his own.

Dean hated waiting.

* * *

It was four and a half hours away from being three days since Sam had arrived at New York University hospital. Almost three days since Dean had gotten him out of Grandville and away from the crazy doctor.

Almost three days since Dean had become a murderer. Three days since he'd felt absolutely no guilt. Three days since he'd slept on anything except a cushioned hospital chair, or washed himself using anything except the sink in Sam's small private bathroom.

Three days...and Sam hadn't opened his eyes yet. Three days...and Dean could barely stand it.

It had been three days...and Sam finally decided to give his brother a break.

Waking up hadn't been a decision, he hadn't even been aware of it for several long moments. He'd figured, that when he'd opened his eyes - cracked them just enough to be blinded by light and see the outline of Dean pacing at the foot of his bed - that it was just another dream.

He'd been having them for...well, he really didn't know how long. Since the black world had disappeared and he'd been knocked out. When he'd first opened his eyes, he'd thought he was back in the fake world - the normal world - but then his mother had started shouting, Dean wouldn't look at him and one of his sons had started a fire in his hospital room.

That when he figured he was having a nightmare. Only it was so real, every time he got trapped in one, he thought it was real again.

So when he finally woke up for real, he thought it for only a moment or two, then decided that it was another dream. He sat quietly, letting his eyes adjust to the light, and waited for Dean to turn around and fix him with an evil, black-eyed, stare. To do something demonic, to sing that song.

When Dean finally turned around, Sam was a little surprised to see that his eyes were to same hazel color they had been his whole life. And when Dean kept staring, not with anger or anything at all evil, but with genuine concern and a little shock, Sam was skeptical.

And when Dean slowly, but surely, walked around the foot of the bed and positioned himself right in his line of viosion, Sam started to feel real pain, the actual remnants of his injuries.

And when Dean reached out and grabbed his hand, squeezing tightly, and Sam saw the tears glittering in his eyes, and knew, finally, that he was home.

"Hey," Sam tried to make the word casual, but having not spoken in days, his voice was raspy, and he winced after using it.

"Welcome back, little brother." Dean's voice was just as raspy as Sam's, but the youngest Winchester thought that that had something to do with his still pooling tears and quivering chin.

Sam gripped the hand that Dean was holding, and shut is eyes tightly. "Dean," he called, tone as light as could be, as sobs welled up in his own throat.

His brother answered with a quiet, "Yeah?" and by tightening the grip on his hand slightly. I'm here, he was saying silently.

Sam indulged himself in a, if only slightly delusional, half-smile. "I'm really starting to hate hospitals."

End.

* * *

A/N: Okay, this isn't actually the _end_, end. It's the end of the story...technically, but there's an epilouge in sight. A long, drawn out, angst-y, smarmy epilouge that has all the brotherly drama and interactions that I've more or less veered away from throughout this entire fic.

This epilouge will be out shortly...in the meantime, what did you think? I'll take anything at this point. Thoughts? Complaints?


	17. Epilogue

Title: Blackbird

Author: Oldach's Dream

Summary: Someone or Something is trying to trap Sam within his own mind. Alluring him with the promise of the normal life that he's always wanted. Will Dean be able to save his baby brother before he's gone forever? COMPLETE.

Disclaimer: Supernatural defiantly isn't my creation.

Rating: M

A/N: The end is here!

* * *

Epilogue

_The hall he was walking through looked the same with each step he took. The walls were blurry, as if only half in focus, and doors on either side of him vanished as soon as he turned his head. So he remained steadfast in his staring straight ahead._

_The hall had no end, but for whatever reason, that didn't bother Sam in the least. He knew that he wouldn't be there long enough to reach a potential end anyway. _

_The end of anything, after all, is almost always an illusion._

_So he kept walking, until something stopped him, halted his journey. _

_It wasn't a ghost, something inside of him knew that much, but he couldn't think clearly enough to give her a more solid label. _

_He decided to stick with 'mom'._

"_Sammy…" she reached out a white, transparent hand, and Sam saw that she was the only thing around him emitting light._

"_Mom," he tried, voice breaking in a familiar fashion._

_She looked conflicted. "I'm sorry."_

"_For what?" Yet he knew there would be no answer, and before the words were even out of his mouth, she was gone. And he was alone again in the hallow halls._

_Only when he tried to turn his head to the side again, he saw great flames licking at the fragile – already partially destroyed – walls around him. The fire was hot, but he could feel no heat, only knew through memory how it should feel. He wanted to run as far away from the danger of the flamesas he could, but his feet wouldn't move._

_He remained standing there, watching the fire grow larger and get closer to him. He saw in its depths the faces of his mother and his girlfriend. He saw also the memories of his children, the ones he knew he'd only half dreamed._

_He saw everything in that fire. The faces of everyone he had ever loved, ever trusted, ever wanted to believe was in his life for good. All taken away by something uncontrollable – unstoppable. _

_Fire was death._

_And it was coming for him, moving closer, trapping him as many had done before, while he was vulnerable in a state of unconsciousness._

_Then, as if he had willed it to be so – and who knew the powers his mind now possessed – he was being pulled away from that world._

* * *

He woke up afraid.

Terrified, that when he managed to focus his eyes, everything he had fallen asleep around would be gone, and he'd be back in some crazy, mixed-up world of murderers and things that weren't really there.

Sitting up, he noted that his surroundings were dark, but he felt – along with the fear and pain – a bit of security. The reason for that security, that safety net, was currently sitting next to him on his motel mattress, holding onto his uninjured shoulder firmly.

"You're okay, Sammy." Dean mumbled softly, watching for signs of disbelief or confusion. "You're at a motel, that other world's gone, Dr. Kabala's dead. Just relax."

Sam began taking deep breaths and followed his brother's orders. It had been like this for almost a week and a half. Sam waking up in a panic, and Dean having to calm him. Sam had been relying so heavily on his brother lately, but the elder man just took it in stride, never prying or teasing – in fact, he been almost frighteningly un-Dean like in his behavior.

Had it not been for the occasional sarcastic – if not somewhat lackluster – quip, and the continually protective behavior, Sam might have started to worry that he'd been again sent to another realm where Dean wasn't really Dean. Where he was being manipulated by some psycho-chick that had captured his brother and been killed by his father…but really, how many times could that happen in someone's life?

"I know, Dean." Sam said as soon as he felt secure enough in his tone to risk speaking without his voice betraying him. "I'm okay."

"That's the biggest load of horseshit I've ever heard." Only the words were gentle, and held nothing but concern. It had been a week and a half and, save Dean's explanations of the specifics of what had gone on; they had not talked seriously about Sam's week in the other world.

The fact that Dean hadn't been pressing the issue, hadn't demanded any details or specifics of the incident, was really starting to throw him. When Sam first got out of the hospital – despite his sane doctor's suggestions – he had wanted to do nothing more than forget about the entire ordeal. Bury it away, deep in the depths of his mind and soul, and try his best to disregard it for the rest of eternity.

At first, he thought Dean would just let him off the hook, and follow Sam's lead – after all, if there was one thing Dean hated, it was drama – but it didn't feel like that was happening. Dean hadn't been pressing the issue, but he hadn't been moving away from it either. Sam was out of the hospital, but Dean refused to move them farther than a few miles away from it, should the younger man need medical attention, so they were still in New York.

In fact, if Sam really thought about it, he knew exactly what was going on – Dean was waiting. The atmosphere between the two brothers had been that of a standoff, a test of patience – Dean was waiting for Sam to crack, and Sam was waiting for his brother to realize that he wouldn't.

And on some level, he knew he that really was a load of horseshit, andin actuality,he was waiting for Dean to start pushing, forcing the issue. Because for how much he said he hated lifetime movie moments, Sam could count off the top of his head about a dozen times where it had been _Dean_ who wouldn't let an issue go until it had been dealt with. Especially – only, actually – when it was an issue involving Sam, and his well-being.

So no, the youngest Winchester wasn't surprised that Dean was currently taking up residence on the side of his bed, speaking in a tone that Sam hadn't heard sine he was a child – one designed to comfort in a way only a big brother can – calling him on his refusal to deal with his issues. Dean didn't take crap from anyone, especially his brother.

But Sam couldn't help but try to keep up the charade – the lies – because it was such an easy wall to hide behind. One he'd place around himself permanently if he knew Dean wouldn't come around and knock it down when the time came.

Dean sighed audibly, and Sam realized that he himself hadn't responded to the comment, that he had indulged them both in several long minutes of silence. Funny, it didn't sound so quiet anymore, the buzzing in his head never ceased long enough for there to be silence.

"Sammy…" he could have sworn he heard a crack in his brother's voice, and he refused to meet his eyes, staring instead at the wall across the room. "You wanna talk to me?"

"You hate talking." Was his automatic response. God, he was being difficult, and he knew it. He just couldn't stop himself.

"Sam," Dean started again, pausing shortly after the name, "You wanna talk to me?" He repeated, managing to portray a little of everything in those words.

"No," Sam decided, "I just wanna go back to sleep."

Dean snorted, and Sam knew that it was starting. "I take it back, _that's_ the biggest load of horseshit I've ever heard."

It Sam's turn to trail off aimlessly, "Dean…"

"I mean it Sammy," he started firmly, and the younger man didn't even have the chance to correct the use of the nickname, "You've barely slept in last…what? Nine days? You refuse to take the pills the doctors gave you because they make you tiered. Every time you do fall asleep, you wake you screaming within hours. You're always disorientated; you think I'm going to hurt you…"

"I said I was sorry about that," Sam mumbled, remembering a few days previous when he'd woken up in a state of panic, and – before his grip on reality had tightened, as it took so long to do these days – he'd managed to elbow his brother, rather harshly, in the collar bone, thinking that the hovering man was a part of his nightmare sequence. "How's your shoulder?"

"_My _shoulder's fine Sammy, it's not the one with the bullet hole in it. " Dean barked, "And that's not the point."

"Then what is the point?" Sam finally snapped, not wanting to be reminded of his injuries; his anger grew monumentally. "What the hell is your point!"

Neither man had been expecting the outburst, and both were slightly taken aback by Sam's words. The younger man swung his head around so that he was facing his brother fully; the glowing light of the bedside lamp illuminated features.

The motel they were staying in was nice, much nicer than Sam had seen in years, actually. Both beds were queens and had comfortable – too comfortable, in Sam's opinion – mattresses, the bathroom was luxurious by their standards; there was a counter in the sort of half kitchen area. It was more like a small apartment than a motel room, really, and overall, the whole place didn't reek of stale, bitter loneliness, which was defiantly different for the Winchester's.

But right now, all Sam could think about was how the decision to stay here was made intentionally by his big brother. Dean thought he was fragile, wanted to protect him from suffocating under the weight of what had happened to him. Sam wasn't used to being protected like that, so completely by his brother, so he reacted in the only way he could – the way he always did when something was overwhelming – he got angry.

* * *

"What the hell is your point?" Dean watched as Sam's eyes darted frantically from his brother's to all around the small hotel room, and back again, and wondered briefly if Sam was even aware of the fact that hehad repeated himself, he didn't seem to be.

Dean didn't know how to answer the question without sounding like he was quoting some tearjerker movie; he didn't want Sam to think he was being fake, or playing around. He settled on the truth, it was the best he could do.

"I want you to be okay," he managed, accepting for the first time how completely and utterly honest the statement was. "I need you to be okay, Sam." He took a deep breath, fighting away the unsteadiness. "We have to talk about this, we have to get through it."

"Otherwise," he kept going loudly, after Sam opened his mouth, not letting him even begin to protest. "You're never gonna get over it, and it's gonna kill you."

This time it was Sam who snorted, and Dean prayed silently that he would not be jumping into that realm of denial again. "After Meg and Dr. Kabala both tried to murder me – physically tried to kill me - for days, you somehow think that the memory of all that is somehow gonna have a worse affect on me?" Sam shook his head, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "That doesn't make sense, bro, not even for you."

Dean took a deep breath and decided, instead of trying to reason with his stubborn, traumatized, little brother, he would try a different tact. "What was the other world like?"

"What?" Sam head snapped up harshly, eyes darting frantically. "What?"

"The world," Dean repeated, steadfast in his newly made decision to have this conversation. "The one Meg created, what was it like?"

"Dean," Sam's warning tone was gruff, but there was something in his eyes – something like fear – that prompted the elder brother to believe he was finally making progress. "Drop it."

"Why?" The older man demanded. "It's the life you always wanted, right? What was it like?"

Sam turned his head away again, but Dean could see the muscles in his jaw tighten. "Drop. It." He seethed in low tone.

"No." He said firmly, confirming his belief that -while this wasn't exactly how he had wanted this to go – he was finally breaking through Sam's icy demeanor, that wall he had put up since he'd first awoken in the hospital and made a crack about being sick of those particular establishments. "The last thing you told me was about Jessica, me, dad, and…mom, at a hospital, right?" he ignored how hard it was to get that one word out. "What happened after I was gone?"

"Well, some crazy old nazi doctor held me captive for a week, while you were chained to a wall, and dad had to come save our asses," Sam snapped sarcastically. "You get hit on the head or something, you're the one who told me that."

"That's not what I meant, and you damn well know it," Dean bit out, the reminder of how drastically he had failed his little brother making him angry at himself once again. "How long were you unconscious? What happened after the curse was broken? What did you see? Come on, man, just answer the questions. Fuck, just answer one of the questions."

Dean – for the past week and a half – had been remembering Meg's words, her taunts while he'd been stung up to her wall like some pathetic sacrificial ritual gone wrong. He'd heard her again and again, saying that Sam would choose her world over the real one. Remembered the belief he'd had, that his brother could actually be dead.

Ever since Sam had gotten back, Dean refused to let him out of his sight, hated leaving him for even half a minute to use the bathroom or take a shower. The elder man had barely slept at all himself in the last nine days, convinced beyond reason that if he closed his eyes; Sam wouldn't be there when he opened them again.

Whether this was fear of something capturing his baby brother again, or a fear – a greater, more likely one, if he actually thought about it – that Sam would wake up one morning and hate his brother. That he would leave – just like Dean had left him – only it would be fairer, because Dean wouldn't be in the hands of a murderer.

"It was screwed up," Sam said angrily, and Dean had to force himself to remember that he had wanted this. "Okay? It was just really, really fucked up. That's all."

A few of Meg's words came back to him again, the ones she had taunted him with while she was talking about Sam being trapped in the curse world forever, and what would happen.

"_Something that'll make Sam wish he could just die. Something he would kill to get away from."_

Dean didn't want to imagine anything ever being that powerful, that destructive, but he could see in Sam's eyes that it had been.

"Tell me," Dean pushed again.

Sam recoiled. He physically recoiled, pulling himself away from his brother, getting out of the bed altogether. He stood on unsteady legs, his hand going automatically to his stitched up side - it had taken twenty six stitches to patchupf Dr. Kabala's handy scalpel work - and Dean just watched, watched as Sam ran a hand through his hair and flung out hisarm desperately.

"Tell you what?" He demanded. "That when the whole thing was falling apart, I saw the fucking demonic version of you? The one that turned into Kabala last time I saw it? Do want to hear that in that world, Jess was fucking pregnant, and when it was all ending, I saw my kids? I saw their whole lives Dean, yours too. Do you really wanna hear about how mom's ghost, or spirit, or whatever the hell it was, kept talking to me? Do you wanna know how Jessica was standing there, with a giant slit in her stomach, talking like it was the most normal thing in the whole goddamn world? Blaming me for everything?"

Sam's voice broke more with each word, and tears were spilling, Dean was up and on the other side of the bed in a matter of moments. He didn't know exactly what he was planning on doing, but he knew he had to comfort Sammy, he had to try to make this better, but when he reached him, the younger man jerked away from him.

"No!" Dean wasn't sure what exactly Sam was protesting, but watched helplessly as Sam pulled away. "No, damn it Dean! Do really wanna hear about it? About what it was like, when everything wasn't nuts, and I was just living there? Because I knew the whole thing was a trap. I had your voice in my head saying that again and again, but it didn't feel like that. Because you and dad got along exactly the same way you do here, and Jessica was exactly the same, and everything was real."

He was half sobbing now, and Dean just watched his breakdown, not knowing what else he could do. Sam needed to get this out, needed to say it, hear it spoken aloud. And Dean needed to listen. Needed to know the full depths of the pain he had caused.

"And mom..." he gasped, and Dean couldn't help taking a step forward. He didn't attempt to reach out to him again, but he tried his best to assure Sam with presence that he was safe, that Dean would never fail in protecting him ever again. "Mom was..." he let out a dry chuckle. "Mom was actually a lot like you. She was sarcastic and, and she had this really...off beat sense of humor."

Sam laughed again, and Dean could tell by looking that he was somewhere else. "She was strong and stubborn. She didn't take crap from anyone - especially you," another watery laugh and Dean couldn't stopthe small smile that touched his own lips. "And dad. And they were perfect together, and I don't...I can't even...I don't know if that was just all made up, or what I wanted it to be like, or..."

He looked up, and met his brother's eyes, he held his gaze for longer than he had in days. "And it doesn't feel like it wasn't real."

With that, Sam's final protective walls shattered, and the younger man broke down into uncontrollable sobs. One hand covered his face - as he couldn't lift the other arm that far - and he tried desperately to breathe, to get himself under control.

And for a few solid, life-altering seconds, Dean couldn't move, couldn't tear himself away from everything Sam had just confessed. He had known Meg's world had been complex, but that was just...way too much for the eldest brother to even try to fully comprehend.

Then Sam's sobbing broke through his shock, and he realized that it didn't matter if he could comprehend it or not. He may never be able to wrap his mind entirely around everything that Sam had been through, everything that that world had done to him. But he could comfort his brother; he could try at least to fix the gaping holes that this incident had formed.

Taking a hesitant step forward, he placed a hand on Sam's shoulder, and when he didn't jerk away - didn't even seem to be aware of it - Dean got closer, and in one fluid movement, pulled Sam against him, wrapping his arms around Sam's shuddering frame, minding his shoulder and side. Assuring the broken boy that he was here for him, comforting him without words.

Because there were no words for this.

Sam didn't even acknowledge it for a moment, just kept on crying, hiding from his brother.

Dean spoke soothing words in a calm tone, hoping it would portray a sense of safety and security that might allow Sam to start letting go. "It's okay, Sammy. You're okay now. Everything's gonna be alright." And then, so quiet that Dean would never know if Sam had heard it over his great, heaving sobs. "I'm here, I'm gonna protect you. I'm sorry, I'm here now."

Moments later, Sam pulled his hand away form his face, and used that arm instead to cling to Dean, losing himself entirely in his brother's embrace. He ducked his long neck so that his head was buried in Dean's shoulder, and his hand fisted the back of his shirt tightly, the other still tucked in front of him. The sobs continued, tears gathering in wet blotches on the fabric of Dean's shirt.

He continued to hush his little brother, marveling at how, even when his full height was several inches above Dean, Sam still managed to feel small and fragile in his arms. That could have been attributed, though,to his outstanding mental exhaustion, physical exhaustion, or the new fragileness of his body. Having not been supplied with proper nutrients for days on end had really taken a toll on his brother, and the constant inability to sleep wasn't helping either.

Dean just held on to Sammy, not wanting to think about those things right now. He just wanted his little brother know that he was there for him. He moved his hand up to the back of Sam's neck, stroking his hair lightly, holding onto him, biting his own lip to keep himself from crying. He rested his chin on Sam's head.

"We'll be okay, little brother."

And, true or not, that's what they both needed to hear.

* * *

Three days later found Sam and Dean walking out of the New York hospital, a certain lightness to their steps that hadn't been present for far too long.

"So, can we get out of the city already?" Sam asked, unable to hide his hopefulness.

"Not yet," Dean said sternly, although his words held a certain hopefulness of their own.

"The doctor said I was fine," Sam argued, and Dean rolled his eyes.

"He said you _will _be fine," he reminded, "If you don't push it. You still have twenty six stitches in your side, and some in your shoulder, too."

"Well, getting shot's a bitch like that," Sam said casually, not noticing Dean's grimace. "Besides, it's not like you've never removed stitches for me before. We could take off and deal with it later."

"What's the matter Sammy, the Big Apple not doin' it for you?" The elder brother stuck with humor because it made life easier.

"Not really," Sam answered honestly. "I've never liked the city."

"Yeah," Dean shrugged. "Me neither, but we won't be here for too much longer."

"What's too much longer?" Sam managed to sound childishly eager and Dean was secretly relieved at hearing such an innocent emotion could still be detected in his brother's tone.

"Another week or so," Dean answered, "I set up an appointment two days from now for you to get the stitches out," and an overall check-up, but why bother throwing that in? "And I rented out our room for another six days. Who knows, maybe we'll take a little vacation after that."

"Vacation?" Sam questioned, sounding doubtful. Dean turned away from him, under the pretence of scanning for the Impala in crowded parking lot. "You don't take vacations."

"Well, maybe we could." He tried to make it sound like he didn't care one way or another, like he hadn't been planning this for days. "Take it easy for a while."

"What about hunting?" Sam demanded.

"You're gonna be out of commission for a while anyway," Dean reminded. "I think it's a good idea."

"I don't." Sam said harshly, and stopped walking, forcing Dean to turn around and face him. "I think we should find something to kill."

His voice was strong, but Dean wasn't an idiot. "Why?"

"Because it's what we do." And there it was - unmasked - the desperation.

"There'll be things to kill a month from now." Dean said easily, stepping on the triggers lightly, waiting for the reaction. "We should take a break." Not an order. Not yet.

"A month?" Sam questioned. "A month? Come on, Dean."

"Alright, maybe not that long, but a few weeks at least. We could get a hotel room in Florida or Texas, you've always like the warm weather down there." He said it all casually, trying to persuade the younger man to see things his way.

"You hate that kinda climate." Sam argued.

And while it was true that Dean Winchester had never been a fan of the intense throbbing heat of the sun, or the humidity of such places, "I'll just have to survive on the bikini clad women." And a smirk sold it entirely.

They started walking again, and Dean purposely walked down a row he knew his car wasn't in, giving Sam time to think. After a few more minutes, he finally said thoughtfully, "You really wanna take a break?"

"Yeah," he answered easily. "For a while."

"What about dad?"

That was unexpected. "_What _about dad?"

"I don't know," Sam shrugged. "Don't you think he might need our help, or what if he sends us coordinates, or tries to call and finds out we're slacking off. He'll be pissed." He was grasping at nothing, and Dean hoped that by simply taking all his options away logically, he'd be left with nothing except compliance.

"Dad's not gonna call. He doesn't need our help, and he'd totally understand us taking a break. He knows what happened, Sammy." Dean watched his brother mull over his arguments. "Remember that year I broke my leg?" He tried, searching for more leverage. "Broke it in five places, shattered that one bit, even. Dad had us stay in that cabin by the lake for almost three months so I could do physical therapy, we spent all summer fishing and barbequing."

Sam smiled, and Dean knew that the memory would strike a chord. It was one of the only completely normal, non-supernatural, memories they possessed from their childhood. Sam had been thirteen and Dean had been almost eighteen, that summer remained today as one of the best of his life.

"It's not the same thing." He argued, yet much of the fight was gone from his voice.

"Sure it is," Dean insisted. "Only instead of a lake we get a beach, and instead of fishing, we get to pick up girls. You can totally use that injured thing to your advantage."

Sam smiled sadly, and Dean knew he wouldn't be getting laid anytime soon. He just hoped Sam wouldn't be forced to repeat the entire grieving experience over again, Dean wasn't sure if he could handle that.

Finally, when Dean could lead them around in circles nolonger, they walked - as slowly as humanly possible - to the Impala. When they reached the car, Dean stood on the driver's side, while Sam mulled around on his side, looking thoughtful.

"Come on, Sammy." Dean pushed. "Just humor me."

Finally, the younger man sighed. "Fine, we'll take a break. But not for long."

Dean smiled a relieved smile, "That's all I'm askin'."

* * *

It was their last day in the fancy hotel room, and Dean was pouring coffee. It was early in the morning and both brothers had been awake for hours.

"You wanna go out for breakfast, or order room service?" Dean felt odd asking the question - as far as his memory went, that's the first time in his life he could legitimately say the words 'room service.'

"I'm not hungry," Sam's voice was laced with exhaustion, as he sat on the edge of the bed, head resting in his hands. His stitches were freshly removed, but he needed to rest his shoulder for a few weeks, exerting himself only for the stretches that the doctor described to them the day before.

_Still severely malnourished. _

The professional man's words echoed. "You've gotta eat." Dean insisted.

"No, I don't."

"Sam, dude, yeah you do," the elder brother smirked. "You're turning into a skeleton. Skin and bones ain't attractive, man."

"I'm not hungry!" Sam shouted, looking up, utterly and completely irritated.

"Too bad." Dean shouted right back, demeanor changing at once. "I'm not gonna sit here and watch you starve yourself."

All at once, even more quickly than it had come, the fight left his little brother. His shoulders slumped forward further, and his hair hid his eyes from sight. "Yeah, whatever. Order room service."

This worried Dean more than the irritability, because at least when Sam was being moody and angry, Dean could work with it. He knew that those emotions were his brother's way of dealing with things; the worse something was, the crankier Sammy got.

But this - this reluctance to say anything, this withdrawing into himself - _this _Dean was worried about.

Sighing, he backed off, and silently poured two cups of black coffee. Handling them both carefully, he made his way to the edge of the bed where Sam was still seated. Sitting down next to him, he handed him one of the mugs, and sighed silently in relief when Sam took it.

"Any requests?" Dean tried casually.

"Let's go to California."

"Okay..." Dean dragged out uncertainly. "I meant for _breakfast_, but that works too."

Sam didn't take his eyes away from his coffee, even when Dean turned his head and tried desperately to get his attention to shift.

"There's something...I wanna do there." And it didn't take a genius to figure out what exactly Sam was referring to.

"Sure." Dean said quietly, and reached around, placing a comforting hand on his brother's shoulder, squeezing lightly. "No problem."

* * *

Sam sat in the car for a while when they first pulled up to the cemetery. He just couldn't bring himself to leave the safety of his brother's Impala. He kept recalling the dreams he'd had right after Jessica's death, the ones where he'd go to put flowers on her grave and her hand reached out from beneath the ground and grabbed him.

A part of him was convinced that that would happen as soon as he walked over to her grave - that she would reach out from beyond death and try to take him with her. He deserved to die, after all. Her death was his fault.

"Want me to go with you?" Sam could tell by the uncertainty of Dean's tone that the elder man was at a loss as to how to deal with the current situation, and was willing to do anything to help.

"No," Sam shook his head, knowing that he had to do this alone, yet appreciating the offer all the same. Finally, he heaved in a great lungful of air, and swallowed nervously. "I won't be long."

It felt good to stretch him limps, having been cramped up in the car for almost the entire day. He walked to across the large expanse of freshly mowed grass on autopilot, knowing exactly where he was going, and not wanting to examine why he had this knowledge.

He stopped a foot or so away from the grave, staring at the stone as if he expected it to speak to him, he even reached down as if dropping flowers - which he didn't actually have with him - and nothing happened. He waited for what felt like forever, before he finally realized what he was doing, and chuckled nervously.

"Well, I feel stupid." He told her, and pictured her smiling face. Not anything from the other world, the curse, whatever it had been. He pictured a time before her death, when everything had been truly happy. Normal without a catch.

He sighed, digging the tip of his foot into the ground nervously. "I miss you, ya know? I really...I miss the way you'd...God, I really just miss everything about you." He smiled again. "I know I never told you about Dean, my brother, but he's got this kinda hero complex. He thinks it's his job to save everybody, me especially. And he keeps telling me that your death isn't my fault."

He quit staring at his foot and looked up at the grave, was disappointed at its inhuman like appearance, so he looked instead to the bright blue sky, squinting to block out the sun. He knew Dean couldn't see him from where he sat dozens of feet away in the car. Which was good, as Sam felt like he was having a conversation that his brother shouldn't overhear.

"I really wanna believe him," he looked again to the stone, because looking at the sky made him feel like he was talking to God. "I guess, maybe I should believe him. I mean, he's never really lied to me before."

He took a deep breath and mulled over it silently for a moment, before blurting out, "I hunt ghosts for a living." He laughed at himself. "Admitting it now...helpful right? No, I guess I just wanted you to know. 'Course, you probably already know by now. You're probably an angel up there somewhere."

"Jess," he spoke, and believed just then - beyond all doubt - that she was indeed listening. "I'm sorry." He took another deep breath. "I'm sorry I never told you the truth about me, and I'm sorry I didn't warn you. I'm really, really sorry that we never got to have that life." He smiled, and fought back his tears. "That perfect, normal life, with our three little kids. You wanted three kids. You told me that one night, remember?" He snorted cynically. "Of course, that's probably exactly _why _we had three kids. Custom made curses..."

"But it's gonna be okay," and he knew finally that it would be, all sarcasm was gone from his tone and he was left with honest, unmasked truth. "I'm gonna be okay. I just wanted you to know that. I'm with my brother, and it's gonna be okay." he bit his lip, staring at the grave. He had stopped seeing stone, he was instead remembering, visualizing, Jessica standing in front of him. "I love you." He whispered in parting.

As he turned to leave, a light wind blew and Sam swore he heard a lightly whispered, "I love you, too." Echo behind him. But when he turned back, nothing was there.

It was just a memory now.

* * *

Dean was awake when Sam's nightmares started that night. He sat on his bed and watched, making a move only when he was sure that Sam wouldn't be fighting them on his own.

Standing lightly, he moved across the room and to Sam's bed, kneeling by the side of it, shaking his brother awake. He had been expecting this, after visiting Jessica's grave that afternoon, how could he not have been expecting this?

Sam woke with a start, and Dean ducked his head instinctively, just incase Sam lashed out subconsciously. He didn't though; he just remained lying there, breathing heavily.

"You okay, buddy?" Dean asked in a tone that had become familiar to them both.

"Yeah, I guess." Sam answered shakily.

"Wanna talk about it?" He offered automatically.

Sam shook his head, "Nah, not tonight."

And Dean nodded, accepting this because on some nights - ever since his breakdown -he did share his dreams. Told Dean everything he asked about. And in that, the healing was beginning.

"Jessica?" Dean pressed lightly, just incase.

"Yeah, sort of." Sam answered, then sighed. "Am I ever gonna get over this?"

"Yeah," Dean said firmly, "You will."

And instead of answering back, Sam moved over on the bed, creating an empty space that Dean filled moments later, stretching out on top of the quilt, as Sam placed an arm behind his head.

"How do you know?" It was a question Sam had asked often throughout their childhood; every time Dean assured him of anything, Sam would always ask how he had gotten the answer, how he was sure.

And each time, Dean responded exactly the same way. "Because I'm your big brother, kiddo, and I say so." He said the words again now, only when hehad beena child, Sam had scoffed at the answer, not believing itslegitimacy.

This time though, he had no protests. It may have been the fading remnants of whatever dream he had plagued him tonight, or the cool breeze of the California night drifting in through the open window. It could have been his total exhaustion, or the comfort of having his big brother so close just then.

Whatever the reason, Sam's only response to the long forgotten answer was a tiredly whispered, "Alright," a deep sigh and, "If you say so."

He was asleep moments later and Dean was smiling.

Yeah, they would be okay.

The End.

* * *

A/N: insert deep sigh here.

Okay, this wasn't exactly the ending I'd been imaging, but there it is. Complete at last. I'd just like to stop here for a moment to thank everyone who has stuck with the story this long - I appreciate your dedication, and your reviews. I live on feedback, after all. I hope this ending was everything you imagined, and I'd love (just one more time) to hear your opinions. This story has been a long, _long _time in the making, and to see its completion is slightly saddening, but mostly reliving... and I really have nothing else to say. Final thoughts appreciated.

Oh, and as a sort of P.S. - I know Meg and Sam have technically met, but the way I figure it here, it was irrelevant to the story line. So, don't think that's an error or something - I didn't include it on purpose. I just couldn't figure out how Sam would even go about realizing that the Meg he met was the same one that had Dean chained to a wall, ya know? Alright, I just wanted to throw that in.

Really, I'm done now. Reveiw please.


End file.
